


Irish Twins

by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, switched at birth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Gold always knew, in his own way. Belle Kingston, on the other hand, had no idea. In the end, there really isn't much difference between water and wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this started from a prompt by thestraggletag (that wondrous source of inspiration) over on tumblr. I don't know how long it'll be. The rating might go up.

The call came just before dinner.

His mother had set the timer for the garlic bread, had pulled the foil from the lasagna and put it on the counter, and had tasked Neal with setting the table. When she asked him how school was, if he learned anything interesting, he shrugged and offered monosyllabic answers.

This was routine: the boy straightened the forks next to the plates, formed two careful parallel lines of the knife and spoon, said, “fine” and “no.” He was always careful to check the living room to see if his father was still sitting in his chair, beer in hand. Most nights his attention was on whatever mindless sport was playing. Neal preferred it that way.

The phone rang and his mom said, “Would you fill the glasses? There’s iced tea in the fridge.” She pulled the phone from the cradle and smiled for just a moment as she watched her him count out nine ice cubes for each of the three glasses.

She was still smiling when she answered the phone. “Hello? Yes, this is her.”

Neal pulled the jug of iced tea from the fridge. It was nearly full, and was heavy in his hands as he angled it over his mom’s glass, then his own which he filled about halfway. His father’s he filled to the brim. He didn’t like iced tea.

He also didn't like Neal, but that was inconsequential and unrelated (he had just learned that word in school today: inconsequential. He might tell his mom about it later, after his dad had gone out or had a few more beers. She liked knowing what words he was learning).

“No, I don’t understand,” his mother said, “is this a joke?”

Neal looked up. She was staring at him, a frown fixed on her face.

“What do you mean, ‘an accident?’” she demanded, her voice rising. It caught his father’s attention from his chair.

“What’s up, babe?” he called, as if she wasn’t still on the phone. His mother ignored him.

“No, I don’t—but he’s—“ She was still staring at Neal. He frowned when her eyes started to water and he felt a wave of hatred for whoever was on the other side of the phone for making her cry.

And why was she looking at him like that? He tried to think back to everything he’d done wrong recently.

Sure, he pulled Abby’s hair when she called him gay last week, but she got in more trouble for that than he did. He put spoiled milk in Conner’s lunch after he threw his sketchbook in the sink, but he was sure no one could prove it was him. Besides, he was pretty sure those weren’t things  that would make his mom get that look on her face.

“Of course, please” she said softly. Her gaze was torn from him and she grabbed a pen from the counter and scribbled something down that he couldn’t see. “No, I didn’t mean—it’s just—well,” she sighed heavily and Neal watched as her shoulders went up and down with her breath, her back to him. “Thank you for calling.”

He was still holding the jug, he realized, when she hung up. She turned to look at him, standing there by the table. He stepped forward slowly and set the iced tea down by the salad, and wished, not for the first time, that he was big and strong and could protect his mother from the bad things that lurked outside their apartment.

“Belle?” his dad asked, coming into the kitchen. “Who was that on the phone?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said decisively.

“What’d you do now, you little rodent?” his dad asked, turning to look at Neal for the first time that night.

“Hush. He hasn’t done anything,” his mom said sharply, walking over and scooping Neal up in a warm hug. “Right now, let’s have dinner before everything gets cold, alright?”

When he let go (she always waited for Neal to let go) she kissed his forehead and said, “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

He felt himself blush, embarrassed, but it was a pleased sort of feeling all the same, like he didn’t have to be big and strong for her to love him. But when he saw her tuck the piece of paper away in her pocket, when she smiled with her mouth but not with her eyes during dinner, he couldn’t help but feel that something important had changed, and that maybe there would always be things he couldn’t protect her from no matter how big he might be.

 

* * *

  


Aaron Gold had always known in the back of his mind that his son was not his son.

The idea, really, was preposterous, because _of course_ Baden was his son. He raised him, continued to raise him, and somehow was managing to not damage him irreparably. In fact, his Bae was such a bright child, was such a happy, bright little boy that Gold _knew_ there is no way he could have come from him.

When those thoughts started emerging he kept silent (it was as soon as early infancy, if Gold was honest with himself, because even then Bae was such a calm, sweet thing and there was not a single iota of any of Gold’s hard edges no matter how hard he looked) largely because he saw little point in taking action. What was done was done, and Gold wouldn’t trade Bae for the world.

Perhaps he should have felt some sort of anger towards Milah for being unfaithful even in the early days of their marriage, but there seemed little point. It all seemed to matter even less when she packed her bags when Bae was no more than four; she hadn’t been gone more than a month when papers signing away all her parental rights arrived in the mail.

Bae was his, all his. And if his hair was a wild mess of dark curls while Gold’s was more shaggy and light, if the boy’s complexion was fair and his eyes a brilliant blue that rivaled the sky, well, what did it matter to Gold if his own coloring was a shade or two darker and his eyes a muddied brown?

Gold had accepted this a long time ago.

It still made it hard to hear the voice over the phone when it informed him, _your son is not your son._

Well, as fate would have it, Bae wasn’t Milah’s son either.

“Of course, we’re terribly sorry,” the poor girl over the phone stuttered. “Somehow there was a mix-up in the discharge paperwork. No one really knows how to proceed; we weren’t actually sure whether or not to call, honestly, seeing as how it’s been nine years, but, well, I mean, you and your wife deserve to know.” She was rambling, likely due to nerves and embarrassment, and Gold wondered for a moment what she had done to be the one to make this call. She certainly didn’t volunteer.

Lord, but what a mix-up. Two women, both brunette and with blue eyes, giving birth to two healthy boys on the same night, only minutes apart.

But going home with someone else’s baby? That sounded like the plot of a bad movie.

The woman from the hospital prattled on, when suddenly Gold was struck with a thought.

Maybe this other brown-haired, blue-eyed woman would want her own son back. It would make sense: anyone would take one look at his boy and fall in love instantly. Of course she’d want him back.

He wouldn’t allow that, though. Bae was the center of his world, and he was staying with his papa, blood be damned.

There was also the question of the other boy.

He cleared his throat to get the fumbling woman’s attention. “What of my s...the other one?” he asked.

There was a pause. “Yes, well, you see, no one really knows what the protocol should be in a situation like this one,” she said, Gold barely being able to make out the words given the speed in which she was saying them. “So we decided it would be for the best if we took as much responsibility as we are able and call both families to let you know the situation. It seemed only fair that everyone involved know something about what happened.”

“Yes, I understand that,” he growled. “who are they, and how do I contact them?”

Gold may be a single father, but he tried to be the best damn father this side of the country. He knew the same couldn’t be said for every parent. The same might not be said for the people who had this other boy. That wouldn’t be allowed. He had to make sure this boy, the one who shared his blood and just maybe had his eyes, was healthy and happy. If he wasn’t, there was no reason some sort of agreement couldn't be reached with the parents; he knew Bae had always wanted a sibling. Deals were, after all, his specialty.

There was another long pause, and just when Gold was about to threaten a lawsuit to end all lawsuits, the woman said, not unkindly, “I think we can both agree this is a very special case. I’m not really allowed to do this, but of course I’ll give you the contact info.”

Gold already had a pen in his hand. “And?”

“The family’s name is Kingston—Belle and Gaston. The records, don’t, uhm, show us what they named their son—the missing birth certificate is actually what started a lot of this, not to mention the investigation into malpractice lawsuits filed against the on-call obstetrician. Jessica was going to try contacting them while I called you, but we weren’t sure if it’d be successful since they hadn’t returned to the hospital after she gave birth, so the number hasn’t been updated, which really, when you think about it isn’t all that strange. I mean, there was no record of your son ever coming back either and with a large city like Boston—”

Gold cleared his throat again, quickly losing patience in her rambling. “The number, if you please.”

He knew it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for the family to have relocated. He himself moved Milah and a newborn Bae to the sleepy town of Storybrooke when his investments started to take off. He only hoped this other family, these Kingstons, hadn’t gotten far.

It was no matter, really, he mused as he wrote the number with a flourish. He had the name, if not of the child then of the parents, and he had the birth date. He had the resources to find them, no matter where they were, and then he’d be able to meet his other son.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who commented or left kudos on the first chapter. I super appreciate it and you all are lovely people.

 

 ****“Hey Gaston, can we talk?” Belle asked, sitting down next to him on the couch.

She waited until dinner was cleared and Neal was tucked safe and warm in his bed before confronting her husband. In hindsight, waiting that long into the evening might have been a mistake; while he was by no means drunk, he was harder to talk to after he’d been drinking. The two empty cans on the counter in the kitchen and the half-empty one in his hand would attest to that.

“What’s up?” he asked, eyes still glued to the TV. He was watching Sports Center, his feet up on the coffee table. Belle frowned, but refrained from commenting. At least his shoes were off.

“What do you think of trying out flag football?” he asked suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“For the kid.” Gaston gestured to the screen with his chin where two large men in shoulder pads and helmets crashed into each other in slow motion. Just watching the ripple effect of their bodies colliding made Belle’s teeth clench. “He’s too young for the contact sports yet, but flag football is the place to start. Might toughen him up a bit.”

“I think he’d be miserable,” Belle admitted with a frown.

Neal was, in a word, uncoordinated, and the poor kid knew it. So did Gaston for that matter, and regardless of how many times Belle insisted Neal was just as happy with a book on the couch or even just sitting in the stands while his father cheered next to him, Gaston persisted in signing him up for little leagues and summer camps, all of which left him inevitably bruised and unhappy.

“Nah, he just needs to toughen up,” Gaston repeated. “He wouldn’t be such a pussy if you didn’t coddle him so damn much.”

“I do not _coddle_ him,” she snapped, bristling, “I _listen_ to him, you—“ Belle sighed and took a deep breath in. Deep breath out. She didn’t want to fight, not when they’ve already had this exact same argument countless times, and certainly not when she could feel the scribbled name and number burning in her pocket.

When she pulled the scrap of paper out (her grocery list, the closest thing she could reach at the time) she was surprised to see it was merely crumpled, that the edges weren’t charred and curling.

“Gaston,” she said, laying her hand on his forearm, finally getting him to look at her instead of the commentators on the TV. “There’s something important we have to talk about. Remember the phone call earlier?”

Gaston grunted, taking another swig of beer. “So what did he do?”

“I told you, Neal hasn’t done anything.”

He gave her a look. “Come on, babe, we both know he’s a little shit,” he pointed to the screen again, to demonstrate his point, “I mean, this is why sports are so important! It’ll get that energy focused in better places.”

“The call wasn’t about that,” Belle said, having to bite her tongue from saying something rash, like, _do you think maybe the reason he acts out is because you keep trying to force him to be something he’s not?_

“What was it about then?” he asked, quickly losing interest. He had already turned back to the TV.

“The call was from Sacred Heart hospital. Remember, where Neal was born?”

Gaston didn’t turn his head, but she could feel that she had his attention again.

“Apparently there was another woman giving birth that night,” Belle said. “Actually, it was a large place, so I’m sure several women were giving birth. I remember you getting lost on your way to the cafeteria for coffee,” she continued, stalling.

“What’s your point, Belle? I’m missing the recap.”

Belle swallowed, her mouth dry. She wished she had had the foresight to grab a glass of water. “Well, you see, apparently, another woman and I looked very similar, and there was something about the nurses being understaffed, and paperwork being misplaced and—and somehow there was a mix-up.”

“A mix-up? What sort of mix-up?”

“Well, this other woman also gave birth to a boy. And that’s the one we took home with us.”

Gaston reached for the remote. Turned off the TV. He didn’t turn to look at her, not yet.

“I know it might be a lot to process,” Belle said tentatively, placing her hand on his forearm again. “Something like this—it just doesn’t sound real, does it?”

“I fucking knew it,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“I fucking knew that runt wasn’t mine,” he said, turning to point at her, his cheeks gone ruddy with the news paired with the drink. “I fucking knew it.”

“Could you keep your voice down?” Belle hissed. “And of course Neal is still yours. He’s still our son.”

Gaston snorted, and Belle wanted to hit him, to knock some sense and compassion into him.

Belle wanted to do a lot of things. Lately, she’s been wanting to pack her bags and leave the tiny, drab apartment, wanted to take her son and find their own little adventure somewhere.

Usually a look into her bank account quieted the urge. She had no way to support herself without Gaston, much less with a son. Besides, he wasn’t all bad. The fact that he was asking her first before signing Neal up for flag football was proof that he was getting better, surely.

“This hospital,” he said now, “they apologize for their mispractice?”

“You mean malpractice?”

“Yeah, that. They apologize?”

Belle shrugged. “Mabye? I was a little more caught up in the fact that we have a second son.”

“Whatever,” Gaston said, shaking his head. He tipped the can, swallowing the rest of his beer, then stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

As he walked out, she could hear him mutter under his breath, “Not even my fucking kid.”

Belle leaned back. Closed her eyes. All things considered that could have gone a lot worse. Could have gone a lot better, too, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.

She brought her hand up to her temple to try to rub away the headache that was starting when she felt the crinkle of paper. She looked and saw that she still held the name and number of the other family, the ones that had her other son.

She frowned, surprised at the rush of anger she suddenly felt. Gaston hadn’t even bothered to ask about him, about the other boy raised by unknown parents.

She stood, about to follow him (what she was going to say, she had no _idea_ but _God,_ that wasn’t _important_ right then) but saw a flash of color out of the corner of her eye: a faded green that looked suspiciously like Neal’s pajama pants and was darting out of the living room.

Just like that, the anger was gone.

“Neal, sweetheart,” she called. When she got to the hall, she saw his door quietly close. Undaunted, she knocked softly.

“Neal?” Belle pushed open the door in time to see the sheets settle over his head. She heard the lump sniffle, saw it curl tighter in on itself.

Belle walked into his room and sat down next to him on the bed. “Oh, honey bird. That isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

She should have known he was listening. She could tell he noticed something was wrong all night, could see how distracted she was. Neal was always so attuned to what was going on around him, and he hated being kept out of things—this wasn’t the first time she’d caught him eavesdropping, after all.

The lump that was her son stopped moving. “Were you going to tell me?”

“Of course I was,” she said, running her hands along his back under his comforter. “Eventually. It's a hard thing to think about, isn't it?”

Slowly, he started to uncurl like a flower placed in sunlight.

They stayed like that for a long time, neither one speaking. When Belle was sure he had fallen asleep, she carefully pulled back his sheets, uncovering his head. She ran her hand through his short hair, stared hard at his pointed features, his high cheekbones and sharp nose, and wondered where he could have come from.

“Does this mean I have a brother?” He whispered, surprising her. He kept his eyes closed. In fact, that he had spoken at all was the only indication he was still awake. She hadn’t even seen his lips move.

Belle frowned. “Maybe,” she said eventually. “Of a sort.” She moved her legs up and scooted down so she was lying beside him. She hadn’t even opened her arms before his head was on her shoulder and his arms were around her stomach. She wound her arm around his back, holding him close.

She thought again about the number scribbled on the grocery list. Of the name _Gold_ written next to _baby carrots, flour, yogurt, paper towels_. Of what she could say to the parents of the child that was meant to be hers.

If she were a better mother, maybe she could write this whole thing off. She was the one that raised Neal, after all, not the faceless Golds. Neal was her son.

Wasn’t he?

A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder about this other boy. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Gold can’t help but wonder, as well. It would be nice to meet him, to know that he was just as well cared for as Neal was.

“Does this mean you aren’t my mom anymore?” The question was pressed into the collar of her blouse, and she could feel Neal’s arms tighten around her.

“Oh, Neal,” Belle sighed. She cupped her boy’s face in her hands (her precious, precious boy), bringing his chin up so she could look deep into his brown eyes. “I will never stop being your mom. You are my son, no matter what. Nothing is going to change that.”

“Not ever?”

She hated how small his voice was, how unsure. In that moment, she hated Gaston too.

“Not ever.”

“Will you stay?”

“Of course. I’ll stay as long as you need me,” she said, kissing his forehead. She waited patiently as Neal settled himself, his head comfortably back on her shoulder. She counted the seconds (and the spaces between the seconds) until she felt his body relax and his breath even out.

Sleep alluded her that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Gold sat in his back room, staring at his cell phone. The shop sat empty and quiet. He hadn’t bothered opening as he didn’t want to risk a distraction. Not that many people dared enter his shop before noon, if at all, but it was better safe than sorry.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was just a phone call. He made dozens of them a week—surely one more shouldn’t be that hard regardless of who it was to or what it was about. 

Maybe he should make another cup of tea. Maybe he should just wait a few days entirely; he had only found out about the whole situation as it stood last night, after all. No point in rushing things.

Then again, he hadn’t even tried the number yet, and the woman from the hospital never did confirm if it would work. If it didn’t, if his call never went through, never connected, then it might take time to find the Kingstons (after all, God only knew where they could be) and that was precious time spent not meeting his second child.

No, if he was going to do it, he was going to do it today, damn it.

He jumped when his phone started vibrating and flashing, indicating an incoming call. He couldn’t even be angry about someone tangling up his line, because he recognized the number instantly: it was the same one he had been failing to dial all morning.

Surely that they were calling first was a good sign. After only a moment of hesitation, he answered.

“Gold speaking.”

He was met with silence.

“Hello?” he tried again.

Ah, there. Someone clearing their throat.

“Mr. Gold?” A timid voice asked. A woman. He couldn’t quite catch the accent.

“Mrs. Kingston, I presume.”

“Oh thank God,” she said, and he could almost feel her relief through the phone. “I wasn’t sure if you knew, and heaven knows I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Australian then. “You mean in regards to our children? Yes, I imagine not.”

There was a pause as they each tried to come up with what to say next. There was too much, Gold could feel it. There was too much to ask, too much to tell. He felt his hands sweat as the silence dragged on. He readjusted his phone, the plastic warm and familiar in his hand.

“This is just—this is crazy,” she admitted, a little needlessly.

“Indeed,” Gold murmured. “Tell me, please,” he said, after the woman remained silent, “what is his name?”

“Neal. His name is Neal. He turns ten in a few months,” she snorted, “but then I think you knew that.”

“I dare say I did,” he agreed, the name  _ Neal _ burning a hole in his heart.  _ Neal Neal Neal _ . “Baden is my son’s name,” he offered, “as it so happens he also turns ten in a few months.”

Mrs. Kingston laughed, and he couldn’t help but notice what a pleasant sound it was as it filled his ear. He pressed the phone closer.

“If I may ask, where are you living currently?” Gold picked up his pen, readying himself.

“We’re still in Boston,” she said easily. “Are you?”

“We’re only a few hours away in Storybrooke, Maine.”

Another pause. “Does he know?” she asked.

Gold hesitated. “Not yet. I didn’t want to upset him.”

He had seen his son off to school that morning, as he had every morning since Bae had been attending. The knowledge, the  _ confirmation _ , of what he had always known sat heavy in his stomach as he watched Bae through the rearview mirror, but he had kept quiet. The persistent fear of Bae being taken away from him was still present in the back of his mind, but an even worse one had wormed its way into his head in the night: what if when he told Bae, the boy wanted to leave? What if he wanted to go back to this unknown family?

Gold knew that maybe he was being unreasonable. Bae had a happy life here, Gold made sure of it, but it still couldn’t get him to open his mouth and tell Bae the truth.

Mrs. Kingston hummed in understanding. “Neal found out last night.”

“You told him so soon?”

“I didn’t mean to,” she admitted. “I was discussing this whole mess with my husband, and he decided to listen in. He’s sneaky when he wants to be,” she said fondly.

“I imagine it was quite the shock.”

She didn’t answer, and the heavy silence (full of what needed to be said and heard) settled over them again.

“Can we meet?” she asked suddenly, sharply. He heard her take a shaky breath, and said, “I mean, are you free this weekend? I would feel better about a lot of this if we could talk in person, and if we...if we met.”

Gold was nodding before she even finished speaking. “Yes, of course. I can drive up this weekend. We can meet for lunch and talk.”

“With Baden?”

He huffed a laugh, “Of course with Bae. I’ll, well. I will make sure he is aware of the situation.” He’d tell him this afternoon. They could go out for a treat to soften the blow.

“Good luck with telling him. I imagine in hindsight I’m lucky I raised a little eavesdropper.”

Gold smiled at the thought of some of his more unsavory traits being passed on. “I’m looking forward to meeting the miscreant,” he said honestly.

She laughed again, and after writing down where and when to meet, they said their goodbyes and hung up.

Gold wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief that twisted his stomach, only to shake his head at himself. Of course it was relief. How could he feel anything less from the first impression he had gotten from Mrs. Kingston? It was clear she cared very much for the child, and that, in the end, was all that mattered.

Still, it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

Gold pulled his notebook closer, already writing a list of everything he’d need. He had work to do.

* * *

 

Gold made sure to be waiting outside the school entrance when the final bell rang for the day. Kids and adults alike gave him a wide berth while he waited for Bae.

“Papa?” his son asked when he spotted him. His head was tilted, curious. Usually he walked to the pawnshop after school, where he would sit in the back and do his homework until he ran off to the park to throw around various balls for various games, or just run around with his friends. If he wasn't back by the time Gold was ready to close up for the day, he would pick him up.

“Ah, there you are. I was thinking we could go grab some ice cream before we head home,” he said smiling warmly.

The fall air hadn’t quite turned biting, as it was so prone to do in Storybrooke. It was still pleasant to be out in only a light jacket, but cold enough to guarantee some amount of privacy at Any Given Sundae.

“What’s wrong?” Bae asked suspiciously, frowning up at his father.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Gold said, too quickly he realized, as Bae’s frown deepened further.

“Ice cream before dinner?”

Gold sighed in defeat. He supposed he did make it a pattern to take Bae out when something happened. The boy was too smart for his own good.

“There’s something important we need to talk about,” he admitted as he took Bae’s backpack from him. “But now that you’ve sussed that out, we may as well just head straight home.”

“What?” Bae’s eyes grew three sizes. “No, I can act surprised.”

Gold chuckled. “Oh you can, can you?” He ruffled his hair. “Well, in that case, lead the way.”

They walked the short distance to the ice cream parlor, Gold listening happily as Bae told him all about his day at school, only pausing for breath to place his order for a cone of the multicolored Scooper Hero he favored.

“Why not get a sundae today?” Gold nudged him gently.

Bae looked up at his father. The frown wasn’t quite back, but Gold could see it around the edges and he realized his mistake.

“Only if you want, Bae,” he said quickly. “Get whatever you like.”

The boy looked at his father for a moment longer, than said very politely to the girl behind the counter, “Could I have a s’mores sundae instead, please?”

Gold opted for a small bowl of chocolate, and moments later they were seated at a table.

“Did someone die?” Bae asked before shoveling a large spoonful of marshmallow fluff into his mouth.

Gold frowned. “You don’t have any relatives.”

“Well, I could have the long-lost ones. And relatives aren’t the only people who eat it.”

“I think you mean ‘bite it,’” Gold smiled wanly. “But as right as you are, no one has died.”

Bae carefully cleaned his spoon, only to plunge it back into his ice cream. “Okay. Are you going to tell me what's wrong, then?”

The shop was empty; the afternoon sun glared against the windows, blocking the outside from view. The young girl who served them had her head in a textbook behind the counter, her headphones in.

“Bae, I need you to know something.”

“Okay.”

“I love you very much, and no one is going to take you away from me.”

This made him pause and lift his head from his bowl where he was trying to dig out some graham crackers with his spoon. “Papa?”

“You know,” he said, making a sound in his throat that could almost be called a laugh. “I had a whole speech planned for when you entered eighth grade. That’s when you’ll be learning all about genetics, I checked,” Gold took a spoonful of his ice cream, not really tasting it. “I wanted to be prepared for when you came to me asking why you have blue eyes, and I have brown.”

“Wait,” Bae sat up straight in his chair, nearly flinging fluff on the floor in his hurry to do so. “Papa, am I adopted?”

Gold ran a hand down his face. He was going about this all wrong.

“Not...technically. Not on purpose.”

Bae was frowning into his ice cream. “That’s not a no.”

He shook his head.

“So...so, what you’re saying is you’re not my papa.”

“I am your papa,” and in this Gold felt most comfortable, most sure. “Bae, nothing is going to stop me from being your papa.”

Bae nodded and Gold could practically hear the cogs in his head grind. “If I’m not adopted, then what am I exactly?”

“Well, uh, you were born in a hospital. And there was another baby boy born that night as well. Somehow, you and him were, ah, switched.”

“You’re saying I was switched at birth?” Bae asked, wrinkling his nose. “That actually happens?”

“Apparently,” Gold couldn’t help but laugh at the expression of pure incredulousness on his son’s face.

“Did you always know?” Bae asked after a moment or two.

“That you were switched at birth?” he chuckled. “I couldn’t have guessed that in a million years.”

“But you were waiting for me to find out you weren’t my father. That’s what you said.”

“I am your father,” Gold said. “I have always been your father.”

“But you still knew that you weren’t,” Bae insisted.

Gold sighed. He knew he’d have to tread delicately. He could tell Bae about Milah, and how she might have had lovers while they were married, and how Gold suspected Bae was sired by someone else almost the moment they took him home. But even with the turn the conversation had taken, that wasn’t appropriate knowledge for his son to have. Besides, some things were better left unsaid.

“Your eye color is admittedly very small compared to everything else that you are. Hell, you might not have even asked me when you did learn about genetics.” At his puzzled look, he continued, “You are far too  _ good _ to have ever come from me, Bae.”

Instead of reassuring his son, his words only seemed to make him more agitated.

“But that’s not—you can’t just—”

“What?”

“That’s not fair, Papa. Not to you, or to—to—”

“Neal,” Gold said softly. “His name is Neal.”

“Or to Neal,” Bae made a face that Gold couldn’t quite read. “So, what? You meet him, and you see him, and he is actually yours and you think, oh yeah, he’s mine because he’s awful. Is that what’s going to happen?”

“No, of course not!”

“You can’t say that about me because it’s not true. It’s not fair, either.”

Gold scrutinized his son. “You’re nine years old. What do you think you’re doing, lecturing your papa?”

Bae just met his eyes impassively. Gold sighed.

“Yes, you’re right. Of course you are. I have no doubt he is just as wonderful as you, truly. It never even crossed my mind that he could be anything else,” he said honestly.

There was a pause as they both went back to eating their ice cream. Gold mostly just stirred his around.

Bae’s bowl was nearly empty when he asked, “Can I meet her? My birth mom, I mean.”

Gold nearly smiled even as his heart wrenched. He was wondering when Bae would ask about her. “We’ll be going to Boston this weekend. I thought maybe we could drive down Friday and find something fun to do, like visit the zoo or go to a sports game.”

Bae brightened. “You mean I get to miss school?”

“Friday seems like too good a day to be cooped up here in Storybrooke. Only, of course, if you promise to do all the make-up work.”

Bae almost rolled his eyes at that. “Yeah, alright. And, uhm,” he hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Is he, like, my brother now?” he asked.

“We’ll see,” Gold said. He didn’t want to get either of their hopes up quite yet. “Would you like that?”

Bae shrugged, looking down at the remains of his ice cream. “I don’t know. It’s all really weird to think about, I guess. I mean, they might not like me.”

“Impossible. They’re going to take one look at you and I’ll have to fight them off with my cane.”

Bae made a face. “As if. You wouldn’t do that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Gold murmured. He reached out and ruffled the dark mop of curly hair. “I love you so much, Bae.”

“Yeah, I love you, too, Papa,” he said, ducking out of his reach with a smile. It may not have been as wide as it was, and his shoulders may have hung a little heavier, but he was smiling all the same. “Thanks for telling me.”

All of a sudden, Gold’s throat felt tight and his eyes burned. Most of his ice cream was melted, his son knew the truth, and nothing had changed between them.

“It’s no matter at all.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who's commented or left kudos. <3
> 
> I've officially changed Greg's name to Gaston, because I kept confusing myself. Besides, most of the comments call him Gaston anyway and so I figure there's no need to be coy.

 

His mother was nervous. It was easy to tell: she kept tugging at her dress and smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, or running her fingers through her hair, making her curls bounce and tangle. Neal thought she would regret it that night when she tried brushing it, though he doubted if she could even tell what she was doing. Currently, she was checking the back of Neal’s collar for at least the fourth time, making sure the tag of his shirt wasn’t sticking out.

Neal didn’t say anything, largely because every time his mom sorted out his collar, she’d squeeze his shoulder or run a hand over his hair. It was nice, especially since he was kind of nervous, too.

All too soon, she was shooing him into the back of her car, turning the radio up to cover the sound of them not talking. Neal tuned it out, instead counting each street light and stop sign that they passed.

It was just about noon when they pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Neal watched while his mother checked her makeup one final time and ran a hand through her hair.

“Do you see your father’s car?” she asked. “He promised he would be on time for this.”

Neal surveyed the parking lot. The restaurant wasn’t all that busy for lunch on a Saturday, and so while the lot was large, there weren’t many cars parked. He couldn’t see Gaston’s pickup, which he took as a good sign.

Belle unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out. She paused by the door, waiting for Neal to follow. When it became clear he wouldn’t, she opened the door herself. “Ready to go?”

He remained seated.

“Hey,” she said, leaning down so they were level. “You okay?”

Neal stared ahead. He wasn’t sure if he was okay, but he knew that if he tried to answer something would crumble. There was a prick behind his eyes and something in his throat and he knew the moment he opened his mouth he’d start wailing, like some baby.

“Are you scared?” his mother asked. She ran a hand over his hair. “I’m scared too,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning closer, like she was sharing a secret.

That got his attention, and he turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised in a question. His mom never got scared. 

She smiled. “I’d be a lot less scared if you were there with me. Think we can be brave together?”

Neal swallowed around the lump in his throat. He felt brittle, like cracks on the sidewalk, or broken glass in a picture frame. He was pretty sure he could be brave if his mom was there, being brave with him.

He nodded and unbuckled his seat belt and she beamed. He always forgot how easy it was to do the scary things until she smiled like that. And it was easy, really. All he had to do was get out of the car and walk inside the building. He’d done it a million times before.

That didn’t stop him from slipping his hand into his mom’s, though.

When they walked into the restaurant there were already people waiting. There was a man in a suit talking with the hostess and a boy next to him, who turned to look when they walked through the doors.

The boy had dark, curly hair and he was taller than Neal was, though it was hard to tell by how much. He watched as a smile lit up his round face, and Neal knew who he was looking at.

His mother did, too, cause he felt her squeeze his hand and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

“You must be Baden,” she murmured.

“Hi, Mrs. Kingston,” he said.

She gave a breathless sort of laugh and shook her head. “Please, call me—Belle. Belle is fine.”

“Alright,” Baden said smiling easily. His bright eyes were wide and excited, and Neal wondered if he was trying to memorize his mother’s face in case he never saw it again.

By now Neal could feel the man’s gaze (Gold, his mother had told him. His name was Gold), and his eyes darted up to his face. He was looking right at Neal with a neutral expression, his sharp features blank. His eyes were sharp, too, and Neal couldn’t help but feel that he was being scrutinized, pinned down and judged like the insects at the science museum. He tore his gaze from Mr. Gold’s face and settled back on Baden, who was smiling shyly up at his mother. When Neal risked a glance back at Mr. Gold, he was also smiling at his mom, only his eyebrows were now raised in surprise.

“Mrs. Kingston,” he said, offering his hand. His voice was pleasant, and like his mom’s, it wasn’t American. “It’s a pleasure to meet you officially.”

“She said we could call her Belle,” Baden said. Then he looked at Neal. “Hi.”

Neal nodded at him, and he turned up his mouth in what he hoped was a smile as his mother laughed again.

“Yes, please, Belle is just fine,” she said, taking Mr. Gold’s hand. This meant she had to let go of Neal’s, which was okay. It was perfect actually, because it allowed him to take a small step back.

“Ah,” Mr. Gold cleared his throat, his eyes flickering to Neal and then away again. “Is it just the two of you today?”

“Oh, no, my husband is meeting us here. He was held up at work but he should be coming soon,” she said, running a hand through her hair. Personally, Neal rather hoped that he got stuck in traffic. He took another small step back and edged slowly to the side.

“Is your wife joining us later as well?” Belle continued.

Gold shifted, and that’s when Neal noticed the cane clutched in his hand, his thumb tracing the smooth golden hand grip. There was a briefcase on the floor next to him, and his shoes were so shiny they reflected the lights that hung above them. The shoes winked at Neal when Gold shifted, and the boy wondered why he looked so fancy for lunch on a Saturday.

“I don’t have a mom,” Bae said, before Gold could answer.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Kingston,” Gold said. “You couldn’t have known. I admit it wasn’t in the forefront of my mind last we talked, or I might have mentioned it.”

She winced. “Please, call me Belle.” 

He nodded his acceptance. “Well,” he said, his eyes finding Neal again, where he was slowly inching his way behind his mother. “How about we sit?”

Belle reached around and squeezed Neal’s shoulder, pulling him into her side as they waited for the hostess to get a table ready. Neal looked down, wishing the floors were a tiled pattern instead of the solid linoleum.

He wouldn’t be able to count the tiles anyway what with how chatty Bae was. He was telling his mom all about the drive down, what they did yesterday, how the hotel they were staying at was. Neal didn’t mind all that much though, even if Bae was talking really fast.

They were led to a long table in a corner, and Baden took a seat across from his mom, while Mr. Gold sat across from him.

“Neal really likes this place,” Belle confided as they sat down.

“Is the food good, then? Perhaps you could make a recommendation,” Mr Gold smiled at him as he picked up a menu.

“You can draw on the tables,” she explained, when Neal just stared at him, and she gestured towards the metal fry basket that held (by Neal’s count) fifteen and a half crayons.

“That explains the white paper,” Bae said easily, reaching for a red one. “That’s pretty cool. I’ve never been to a place like this.” Instead of a tablecloth or even place mats, the table was covered with a single piece of white butcher paper from end to end. Bae wasted no time in planting squiggles and loops all across his place.

Belle hummed in agreement. “Makes waiting for food not seem as long when you’re able to play tic-tac-toe.” She bumped Neal’s shoulder playfully. “Of course that’s only when I can keep his attention long enough.”

“You like to draw then, Neal?” Mr. Gold asked. He had picked up a crayon of his own, a grey one, but unlike Bae was merely running it through his fingers.

“Yeah, I guess,” Neal nodded. He grabbed a crayon from the middle of the table, not caring what the color was. Bae was happily scribbling shapes and now had a blue and an orange, but Neal hesitated.

Mr. Gold smiled, clearly delighted at getting a verbal answer. “You must be very good.”

“Oh, he is,” Belle said proudly.

“About the only thing he’s good at,” Gaston said, plopping down into the chair next to hers.

Belle looked over in surprise. “Gaston,” she said, leaning away when he moved to kiss her cheek.

He settled for throwing his arm around the back of Belle’s chair, unbothered. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Goldstein. A couple of my delivery boys didn’t show up so I had to step in and pick up the slack.”

“It’s just Gold, dearie,” he answered, flatly. Neal was surprised at the coldness in his voice, though he imagined if someone showed up late and got his name wrong, he’d sound like that, too. Mr. Gold’s eyes were sharp again, and Neal was rather glad that the expression on his face was being directed toward Gaston and not him.

Gaston reached for a menu and said, “Man, I’m starving.”

For several long moments, Mr. Gold didn’t look away. When he did, he glanced at Neal. His eyes softened instantly, a small, crooked smile appearing on his face.

Neal felt himself smile back (he felt something warm start to bloom in his chest, like a flower that unfurls in sunlight).

Soon, the waitress came and took their orders. Bae had stopped scribbling and was pulled into an impromptu game of pictionary with Belle and Mr. Gold.

Mr. Gold was currently drawing a circle, divided by spokes in the middle.

“Apple pie,” guessed Belle.

“Tire. Wagon wheel. Oh, oh, the steering wheel on a ship,” Bae said.

Gold hummed in agreement, but continued drawing. “Do you have a guess, Neal?” he asked.

Neal shook his head, reaching for a yellow crayon from the small pile he was hoarding.

For a moment, Gold’s smile faltered and his hand paused over the paper.

“Spinning wheel,” Belle said smiling reassuringly across at him.

“Oh, I see,” said Bae. “Like in Sleeping Beauty.”

“And Rumpelstiltskin.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get that, Bae.” Gold said, ruffling his son’s hair.

“I don’t spend as much in that dusty shop as you,” Bae defended. “My eyes go right over everything anyway.”

“You have a shop?” Belle asked curiously, picking up a blue crayon for her turn.

“A pawn shop, yes. I also do restorations and antiquities,” he said as she started with a square. “The spinning wheel is currently in the shop window.”

“Picture frame,” Bae guessed. When she kept drawing, he continued, “laptop.”

“Is antiques lucrative these days?” she asked, eyeing the suit and tie.

Gold smiled thinly. “I also have some property around town that I rent.”

“iPhone. Broken ladder.”

“Book,” Neal said, not looking up from his own drawing.

“Oh,” Bae said, nodding. “Book, I see.”

Belle huffed. “You’re not even playing.”

“How’d you guess that?” Bae asked. “You’re not even looking.”

Neal shrugged. “That’s what she always draws.”

“Only thing I can draw, and I do love my books,” she said, cheerfully. “What are your favorites, Bae? Perhaps I’ve read them.”

“I don’t really like reading, actually,” Bae admitted with a shrug.

That threw Belle, and she frowned. “You don’t like reading?” 

“Reading’s a waste of time,” Gaston grunted. It was the first time he’d spoken since they placed their orders, opting out of their game.

Belle glared at him. “It is not.”

“You should know better than anyone, babe.” Gaston leaned back in his chair.

Bae had a furrow between his eyes, and Mr. Gold was frowning at Gaston.

“Can we please not have this conversation right now?” Belle sighed. She placed her crayon on the table, turning away from her husband.

“She’s a librarian,” Gaston told them, looking as if he had just said  _ telemarketer _ or  _ sewerage expert. _ “She works at the library off Spruce Street with those ugly statues in front. Large building, and a complete waste of space.”

“That’s not true! Libraries are essential to a community. Even if—”

“So few people are going that you’re working far below part time. C’mon, Belle,” he said in the superior tone of someone who’s won this argument before. “A parking lot is a better use of that space. Hell,” he said, leaning back, “maybe if you stopped taking Neal there so much he’d be able to focus on things that are actually important. Face it, the kid is useless.”

“Neal is at the top of his class,” Belle cut in quietly, but her voice was firm.

“As if that counts for anything,” Gaston sneered. “Anyone can sit at a desk and add two plus two all day, and that will only get him so far in life. The world needs doers, and he can’t do shit.”

Neal pressed the crayon in his hand harder against the table as he colored in the block. Back and forth, back and forth, the color got darker and darker, the wax smooth. He wasn’t really drawing anymore, but it was hard to concentrate on anything else when Gaston really got going.

He snuck a glance at Bae, and saw that he was frowning. His eyes were wide, too, and he looked like he would rather be in a snake pit than sitting and listening to Gaston’s rant. Mr. Gold was frowning too, and he saw that his finger was tapping the table in a steady rhythm. His eyes were glued to Gaston’s face. Neal wondered what he was thinking, but beyond the look of distaste, he couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve found being able to add has gotten me quite far in life,” Mr. Gold said, his voice soft.

“Oh, I have no doubt, Mr. Big Shot,” Gaston said, sneer still in place. His eyes roamed over the suit, the tie, the shiny, golden cufflinks. “I know your type. I bet you fought and clawed to where you’re at right now. You worked for it by beating out the little guy. This one,” he gestured to where Neal sat, quiet and staring at the table, “is the little guy. He’s the one that gets beat.”

“Gaston,” Belle said, horrified.

“You’re a doer,” he said proudly turning his gaze to Bae. “I can tell. You’re going places, boy, while all this one does is sit in his room with his nose in his sketchbook, or reading at the library,” he said with a pointed look at Belle.

“It’s what he enjoys doing,” she said, her face flaming and eyes bright in anger, but voice still level. “And he’s good—“

”What does it matter how good he is at it? Being good isn’t going to keep boys like him,” he gestured to Bae, whose eyes were just growing larger and larger, “from beating the shit out of boys like Neal.”

“That is quite enough,” Mr. Gold said. His voice was like a steel trap that had shut closed.

Neal’s throat felt tight, and the prickling in his eyes was back. He wished Gaston had gotten stuck in traffic. He wished there had been a huge accident with a semi that wrecked his pickup and broke his legs. He wished for a lot of things.

He knew how bitter failure and disappointment felt, of course, but Neal hadn’t realized they could feel quite this sharp (like concrete and glass),

His ears were pounding the same way they were the night he found out he didn’t belong in his family. He wasn’t sure what anyone was saying next, but he didn’t really care. He ducked down underneath the table, and ran.

 

* * *

 

 

Bae didn’t see Neal when he entered the bathroom, and both of the stall doors were closed. He didn’t know if that meant they were full, or if the doors just hung closed. He got down on his hands and knees and peeked under the first, but it was empty. The second he tried was empty, too. Before he could worry that Neal had run off somewhere else, he heard a sound, like a cough caught deep in a throat.

“That’s really unsanitary,” said a voice behind the door. “You don’t know what could be on these floors.”

Bae couldn’t see any shoes, so Neal must have pulled his feet up.

“If I wash my hands will you come out?” he asked, staying crouched down.

“No.”

“If I wash my hands, can I come in?”

There was a pause. “The stall  isn’t big enough for two.” Another pause. “You should still wash your hands though.”

Bae looked down at the floor, and it looked pretty clean to him, but he got up to wash anyway. After drying his hands his pulled himself up on the sinks so he was sitting facing the stall door.

“Hey Neal?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t like your dad much. That was mean, what he said about you.”

“Yeah,” Neal said.

Bae kicked his legs out. He stared at the stall door Neal was hiding behind, hoping the words he needed to say were written there. Of course, if they were they'd be on the inside, and they probably wouldn’t be what his papa called “appropriate.”

“Hey Neal?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we be friends?”

Bar heard two tennis shoes hit the tiled floor. The door swung open slowly, and he saw Neal frowning at him. His eyes were clear and his face wasn’t red anymore, which was a good sign.

“DId you not hear what Gaston said?”

“What do I care what Gaston said? He’s mean. And wrong.” Bae kicked at the counter until his back hit the mirror. “What he says doesn’t matter.”

“Inconsequential,” Neal muttered.

“What?”

Neal didn’t say anything and Bae sighed. “You’re smart,” he said. “That’s not a reason not to like someone. It’s cool.”

Neal just looked at him. It was hard to put into words what Bae felt, really, which was especially frustrating because his papa was so good at words.

Sometimes, when he got his grades at school, or when his teacher made him take notes home for Papa to sign, he wondered when Papa would finally accept that Bae just wasn’t smart like the other kids. Like Neal. He worried that that would be when he loved him just a little less.

He should probably tell Neal that. Tell him that Papa liked people who were clever. Bae opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He kept trying, but the words he wanted were always just beyond his reach. When he looked at Neal, though, Bae just  _ knew _ Neal understood. It was in his nod and the slope of his shoulder when he stepped out of the stall and let the door swing shut. He relaxed against it, facing Bae.

“Why don’t you like to read?” Neal asked.

“Hurts my eyes, is all.”

“So you need glasses.”

Bae made a face. “Ugh. No.”

Neal did that thing with his mouth again where he smiled but didn’t really smile, more like just moved his lips up and bared his teeth.

“Do you like stories, at least?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t.”

“Well, Mom’s a really good storyteller. And she likes sharing what she’s reading. You could ask her to read to you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, until you get glasses.”

“Ugh,” Bae said, louder. “No.”

Neal snorted.

There was a pause, and then: “I really like your mom though. I don’t really remember mine much.”

“Not at all?”

“No, she’s been gone since I was,” Bae frowned, “young. Still a baby-but-not, because I remember it, you know?” He shrugged and leaned his head back against the cool glass of the mirror.

“Did she die?” Neal asked. 

“No, she left.” It wasn’t his first memory, but it was one of the clearest from when he was small. 

He had been at daycare building with the colored blocks and knocking them down again with the other kids. Suddenly (in that dream-like flow early memories have), it was just him, all the others having been picked up. He wasn’t ever the last one to leave, but he remembered stacking the blocks as high as he could, building his own personal tower that only he got to knock down. He thought he got it pretty high when he his dad walked in, eyes red and frown set deep into his face.

“Papa!” He had called, proudly. “Look what I did.”

He remembered his papa’s eyes getting redder, could remember the crack in his voice when he lifted Bae up into his arms and said, “You are such a good boy.”

Bae looked up at Neal, who was still standing, waiting patiently for him to speak. Or not. Bae knew he wouldn’t push in this.

“She sent me postcards sometimes from these really cool places, like, like Fiji and London and the Great Wall. They’re all still in a box in my room. She stopped after awhile though, and I haven’t gotten a new one in...well, in a while.” 

Bae really only got sad about it when he looked in the box. There weren’t that many cards after all, and it just felt empty when he lifted it. Eventually he learned to stop reaching for it in the first place (a part of him knew that it wasn't the box that made him sad).

He watched as Neal nodded. For a moment neither one of them said anything.

“This is really weird.”

Neal nodded again. “You only make it weirder by saying how weird it is.”

“What, you mean that it’s weird for me to say that it’s weird that I’m meeting my actual mother for the first time?”

“It’s only weird ‘cause you’re making it weird,” Neal said, lips twitching.

“Well, you’re meeting your father too.”

Neal looked up at him, startled, but Bae wasn’t sure why.

“Oh,” Neal said, “No, I don’t think he’d...uh…’

“He wouldn’t what?”

Neal looked back at him, his eyes wide and afraid.

Bae frowned. “Do you think he doesn’t want you?”

Neal said nothing, just continued to stare.

“I’m pretty sure he’s half-convinced that you’re coming home with us.” Bae laughed nervously. “If you want—I mean, only if—ah—hm,” Bae felt his cheeks burn as he floundered. Why were words so hard?

Neal for his part, wasn’t doing much better. “I mean, it’s just,” he blew a breath out through his mouth. “I’m really glad Gaston isn’t my dad.”

“He’s not mine, either.” Bae made a face. “I think Papa would be more than happy to have us both.”

“Yeah?” Neal was looking down at his shoes, avoiding eye contact completely.

“Yeah.” A pause. “Hey, do you think I’d be mean like him if none of this happened?”

Neal looked up at that. “If we weren’t switched, you mean.” When Bae nodded, Neal said, “I don’t know. You’d still have Mom, and she’s not mean at all. I mean, I wonder if I’d be happy and smiling all the time if I was raised by your dad.” Neal tried to picture it but couldn’t. “Now that would be weird.”

“Hey,” Bae said, an idea striking him. “We were born on the same day, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And Papa is technically your papa too, right? And your mom is technically my mom?”

“I guess.”

“So that makes us, what, twins?”

Neal looked a little lost. “I, uh, I mean, we could be. Technically.”

“Cool,” Bae nodded, decisive. “So we’re twins. Okay, now this is even more important.”

“What is?”

“Which one us is older?”

Neal tilted his head. An eyebrow raised, intrigued. “I don’t know. What time were you born?”

“I don’t know,” Bea shrugged. It was such a specific question that he hadn’t ever bothered to ask. “Do you know what time you were born?”

“Well, no.” Neal admitted. “I mean, I know I was born at night.”

Bae frowned in thought. “I think Papa may have mentioned that. Like, it ‘was a dark and stormy night’ or something.” 

When Neal laughed (an actual laugh with an actual smile), Bae couldn’t help but feel a small sliver of triumph.

“And you say you don’t read,” Neal said, still smiling. “We could just ask. Mom probably knows.”

“Papa knows all sorts of weird things. He’d know too, I bet.” Bae hopped down from the counter. “C’mon.”

“Hey Bae?” Neal asked just as Bae was pulling open the restroom door.

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean it? About us being friends?”

Bae held the door open. They had already decided they were twins, but being friends was something else entirely. He felt as if this was probably the most important thing he’d say that day, and he didn’t stop the smile that bloomed across his face.

“Yeah, I mean it.”

Neal’s returning smile was crooked, just like his papa’s.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all neat people. <3

Belle had never come so close to hurting another person before. Never, in all of Gaston’s pig-headedness or casual cruelty had she felt the urge to slap him, or throw something heavy at his head. Maybe that’s why she could only stare, open mouthed, while he sneered and humiliated her son.

Saying those things when he was drunk at home was one thing, but out in public? And how dare he drag Baden into it. How dare he try to pit the children against each other like that.

“That is quite enough,” Mr. Gold murmured, and his steely voice snapped Belle out of whatever stupor she was in.

“What is the matter with you?” Belle hissed, grabbing Gaston’s forearm where he was resting it on the table. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Gaston frowned as he looked her. “What? I’m just stating facts.”

Belle felt her grip tighten. “Those were not facts,” she said, her voice low. “Those were ignorant and cruel opinions.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his arm away. There were crescent-shaped indents along his forearm. “Can we not do this now, babe?” he asked, shooting a look at Mr. Gold, who was watching them through narrowed eyes.

“Oh, you don’t want to do this _now_? _You_ don’t want to do this _now.”_ She hissed. “I guess we just all have to do whatever you want, hm? I swear to God, Gaston, if an apology isn’t the next thing out of your mouth—”

Gaston’s cell phone starting ringing, and he fished for it out of his pocket. “Sorry, babe, I thought I silenced it.” He quickly shot out of his chair. “I need to take this,” he said, not waiting for an answer.

As if Belle was going to stop him. She took a deep breath and counted to three before releasing it. She looked over to Neal, hand already outstretched to lay on his shoulder, only to find his seat empty.

Before she could start to panic, Bae said, “He ran off in that direction.” He pointed towards the corner. His blue eyes were wide in his round face, and Belle felt a wave of humiliation on top of the twisting guilt. She tried so hard to keep from fighting in front of Neal, and now not only had she run him off, but she exposed Bae to it as well.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, when Belle started to push her chair back. “Those are the bathrooms, right? You’re not allowed in the men’s. I’ll go get him.”

Before she could protest he had wiggled out of his chair and was already trotting away. Well. It looked like she had run Bae off, too.

Belle watched him go, watched him disappear around the corner. Mr. Gold cleared his throat and she took a few steadying breathes before she felt brave enough to meet his eyes. When she did, she realized they were alone at the table.

“My father died when I was seven,” she blurted, “and then it was just me and my mom.” She shook her head, eyes boring into his sharp features. She looked at his crooked nose, the high cheekbones, the way his greying hair, nearly white at the temples, brushed his shoulders. His handsome face remained impassive.

“I felt his loss every day, like a physical thing, you know? Like, like,” Belle picked up the crayon she had been using before Gaston decided to intrude on everything, then set it back down on the table. “Like a cup that had been dropped. After the impact, all that’s left are pieces of something that used to be whole”

“A cup is just a cup,” Mr. Gold said quietly.

“And a fatherless child is still fatherless. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, and certainly not my own child. Not if I could help it.”

Mr. Gold said nothing.

Belle sighed. She should have known it would come to this, to having her choices being scrutinized and judged.

“He’s never said any of that before,” she admitted. “Gaston, I mean. Not to me, and certainly not while Neal was within hearing.”

“You shouldn’t defend him.”

“I’m not defending him,” Belle snapped. And she wasn’t. Oh, she knew she and Gaston were going to have a long talk when they made it back to their apartment, but she just needed Gold to _understand._

“I do understand,” Gold said, and she looked up, not realizing she had spoken aloud. “Wanting everything you didn’t have for your child is a strong motivator, Mrs. Kingston.”

“Is that why you’re successful, what with your shop and your real estate?” she asked, wondering if Gaston was right, if he really had worked hard for his expensive suit.

He tilted his head, considering. “I meant that I would be lying if I myself didn’t admit to some unsavory relationships in the name of trying to find Bae a mother. The idea of the perfect nuclear family is tantalizing, especially when it seems so close, or when we’re told our children won’t be the same without it.”

Belle leaned her elbows on the table. “What’s stopped you?”

He looked at her carefully, eyes narrowing. “He hasn’t liked any of the women I’ve brought home with me.” His mouth twisted, and he admitted quickly, “That makes it sound like there was a legion. I tried only twice, and he disliked them both. Bae loves easily and when he doesn’t, there is a reason.”

“You listen to him,” Belle said softly.

“Of course.” He smiled, “I must say his judgement is rather sound, even for as young as he was, if a bit simplistic. Saved us both from some truly awful step-mothers.”

“How long has he been without a mother? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Not at all,” he murmured. “Bae was about four when Milah left us. She had discovered she had little interest in being a wife and mother.”

“That must have been hard.”

“In the end it was her right. I can’t say I missed her. Bae, however,” he paused, his eyes flickering to something over her shoulder and wrinkling his nose like he was smelling something foul.

Belle suddenly felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She didn’t bother turning as it squeezed.

“That was Larry on the phone,” Gaston said. “The dipshits broke the water line installing the washer. If the sudden flood weren’t bad enough, he’s pretty sure a fuse blew when they hooked up the dryer. I have to go sort this shit out before they screw up something else.”

It was on the tip of Belle’s tongue to tell him to bother one of his managers (what did he pay them for if not to clean up spontaneous disasters outside of working hours) but one look at Gold’s face changed her mind. She had a feeling neither Neal or Bae would be upset about his early departure either. For all her anger at his brash behavior, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit sad (and a small spot of pity) that neither of the children wanted him there.

“Be sure to box up my burger, and tell the kid bye for me,” Gaston said before releasing her shoulder and turning to Gold. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Goldstein.” And with that, he turned and exited the restaurant.

Gold watched him go with a scowl. “That reminds me, there are a few things we need to discuss, Mrs. Kingston, and this seems like as good a time as any.”

Well that didn’t sound ominous at all.

Belle cleared her throat. “Oh?” She looked to where the bathrooms were located, and hoped that Bae and Neal were alright.

Gold seemed to be thinking along the same lines. His face softened a fraction, and he murmured, “Forgive me if this sounds too familiar, but I imagine it would do more harm than good to try to pry Neal from whatever hiding place he’s found.”

Belle nodded. “Truth be told, I’m expecting Bae to appear at any moment to ask for help. I don’t think he’ll be able to do much for Neal except rile him up more; he’ll be a lot less surly if I let him cool off on his own.”

Gold’s lip twitched. “Be that as it may, I think it’s best to get this out of the way now.”

She couldn’t help but hope that Bae would choose that moment to pop up, as it could get her out of having to have this discussion, which she had a feeling was not going to be a pleasant one.

 _He’s in the exact same position you’re in,_ Belle reminded herself. But she couldn’t stop the feeling of dread that settled in her stomach as he pulled out a folder rife with papers from his briefcase. _Then again...maybe not._

He placed the folder in front of him. “Our situation is a unique one. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that being switched at birth is rare. Or it could be quite common—who can say, as it likely goes undetected if it does happen. From what I’ve found, when the circumstances are discovered, parents almost never take each other to court, and if a lawsuit is involved, it’s usually a case brought against the hospital for emotional distress or neglect, or what have you.” His gaze was level, his brown eyes (the same shade and shape as her son’s) didn’t falter from her face. If she didn’t know any better, he sounded almost bored, the low brogue of his voice flat. “I stress that this has only happened a handful of times.”

“Are you suggesting we sue the hospital?”

“I have no interest in a lawsuit, dearie, especially not with the hospital. I see no reason to draw this out, or make it more unpleasant than it needs to be. And I promise you,” his voice lowered slightly and he leaned forward, “a lawsuit would be unpleasant.”

“I confess I looked into this a little, myself,” Belle said trying to keep her tone from sounding too sharp at his thinly concealed threat. She had scoured her library and the internet for any records on children switched at birth, and she found surprisingly little beyond sensational articles and the odd warning from anxious mothers.“In all the stories I found, when it came to light that a switch had happened, the children were usually older, and so they stayed with the families that raised them.”

“As true as that may be, it might not be what’s best for the child.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Mr. Gold’s eyes were sharp and calculating, and Belle felt the dread in her stomach expand.

“I mean, Mrs. Kingston, that I have a check in my pocket made out for the sum of sixty thousand dollars.”

She felt dizzy from the speed in which the blood left her head. Her face paled and she went cold all over as understanding suddenly locked into her head.. “Are you trying to purchase my son?”

“Oh no, nothing so crass.” He took a sip from his water glass, eyes not leaving hers. “Merely compensation for taking care of him all this time.”

Oh, but that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

“I have been _raising_ him for the past nine years and if you think for one moment that you can just walk into his life—”

“Mrs. Kingston, please,” he raised his hand in supplication, his face still infuriatingly calm. “I admit that it was my intent to perhaps push an...exchange of sorts if you weren’t the right fit, but—”

“And you get to decide that, do you?” she hissed.

Gold smiled, and Belle was taken aback by the soft, fond look in his eyes (warm and melting, so like her son’s). “Neal needs his mother, and I would be a fool to think I could get away with taking him from you without hurting him.” He pushed the folder towards her, tapping it before saying, “Above all else, that is the one thing I will keep from happening: hurting our children.”

She took the offered folder, but only because he had said _our._ Honestly, it calmed her temper tremendously, and as such, all she could do was stare at it nervously, not really sure if she wanted to open it. But then he nodded, motioning with his hand and so she flipped the folder open.

In her hands were contracts. Or at least what she assumed were contracts—she was finding it rather difficult to focus on any one word or phrase. As she flipped through the seemingly endless fine print and clauses, she saw the word _annuity_ and _accrued interest._ “Is this—is this a trust fund?”

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “A college fund, more like, as I hope that is what it will be used for, but it can be utilized however Neal wishes. I admit it’s lagging behind Bae’s, but hopefully I have it set up to where it’ll even out by the time Neal, and _only_ Neal, might be ready to use it.”

She didn’t bother acknowledging his warning with a response, too busy she was looking at the amount currently in the fund. All those zeros were making her dizzy; to think the balance would only grow.

“Will Neal only get this if I allow you to take him?”

He frowned and Belle fancied he looked a little offended. “No, of course not. Make no mistake,” he said, smirking at what must be the look of incredulousness on her face, “Neal is my son and I will treat him as such.”

Belle’s fingers itched where she held the documents, and as much as she wanted to say, _no, this is too much, I can’t accept this,_ a larger part of her knew this was something she could never offer Neal on her own. Neal would have the chance to go to any college he wanted, wherever he could imagine or hope to dream. He would get the opportunities Belle never did, and her heart swelled to think about it. Gold could take his check and shove it someplace that wasn’t child appropriate, but a _college fund_ was something completely different _._

There had to be strings attached. And then she remembered the rest of the papers in the folder, and looked at them more closely. At least she tried to. Her head was still swimming from the knowledge that her little boy’s future was almost guaranteed to be financially secure.

When Belle narrowed her eyes and concentrated, she could pick out the phrases _visitation rights_ and _legal guardian_. _Birth parent_ and _custody._ One of the packets looked suspiciously like adoption papers. There was even a form requesting the correction of a birth certificate.

“All a matter of dotting our i’s,” Gold said when she questioned him about that particular paper. “To do that, I imagine we’ll need to get DNA tests. They should be able to do that without drawing blood,” he mused. “Neither Bae or I are too fond of needles.”

“Is this all really necessary?” She asked a bit desperately as she flipped through the documents, not really reading them anymore. “You agreed you weren’t going to separate me and Neal, and I can promise you I’m not interested in separating you and Bae. You said that legal proceedings weren’t involved in any of the other cases.”

“I said there were no lawsuits,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And I’ve found it’s always best to be prepared. Nothing has to be finalized as of right now, of course, nor am I expecting you to sign or agree to anything. Just please, know that these are options.”

Belle shook her head, overwhelmed. “It’s clear we both have an interest in getting to know our children. Can’t we come to an agreement without the courts stepping in?” She laughed, a little breathlessly. “How did you even get all this? It’s hasn’t even been a week since we found out.”

“I’m a lawyer, dear—it’s my business to know contracts.”

“You own a pawn shop,” Belle said, even as a few things started to make more sense. The way he was dressed, his obvious wealth, the assurance that Neal was already his…

“I can do both.” He smiled, “I admit my speciality is hardly family court, but being one of two options in a small town, I oversee a wide range of legal matters, or at least as many as there can be since, again, Storybrooke is a small town. This isn’t the first, ah, adoption I’ve been privy to.”

“You can’t seriously think you’re going to adopt him.” she asked, incredulous.

“Why? Because he already has a father?” Gold leaned back in his seat, frowning. “Yes, and he seems to be doing a bang-up job, what with the celebration of interests and abilities. I wonder, do you think he’d bother to tell Neal goodbye in his hurry to cash my check? Don’t deny it,” he snapped, when Belle tried interjecting. “Besides, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way about Bae.”

“That his father is an ass who oversteps his boundaries?” she snapped, voice thick.

“That you want to take him home and love him like he deserves,” he said with surprising earnestly.

Belle ran her hands over her face. This man was every stereotype of the high-priced lawyer cliche (the shark smile, the cruel, cutting honesty, the attractive if infuriating confidence, and she was embarrassed she hadn’t realized what she was dealing with sooner) stuffed into a clearly loving father who would do anything for his child. It was hard to reconcile the two in her head, even as he sat before her.

She sighed; the emotional whiplash of rage and empathy was exhausting. “Look, Mr. Gold, I appreciate more than I can say that you want to be a part of Neal’s life, and I will do nothing to keep you from doing so. And you’re right that I feel the same way about Baden.” Impulsively, she reached her hand across the table. His skin was warm under hers. “We need to agree on something, right now.”

“Are you proposing a deal, dearie?”

Belle tilted her head, surprised at the sudden smirk on his face. “I guess?”

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Right, well,” Belle closed the folder. “None of this, for one,” she said gesturing to the pile in front of her. “If we’re going to be building relationships with our children, we are going to do so on equal footing and mutual trust.

“Blind trust,” he said frowning. “And the paperwork is there to ensure an equal footing.”

“Seeing as how I didn’t go to law school and don’t have a lawyer friend I can call up, I’m more comfortable doing this my way.”

“That’s not very trusting.”

“Says the man with a check for sixty grand in his pocket,” Belle huffed.

“I don’t really have a check for sixty thousand in my pocket,” Mr. Gold admitted.

“No?” Belle asked, raising her glass for a sip of water. She spotted the waitress approaching the table with their food.

“No, of course not. It’s blank.”

Belle, glass still in hand, inhaled and consequently choked on the water she meant to swallow.

“Is everything okay?” the waitress asked a little uncertainly, setting down the large round tray piled high with their order while Belle coughed. She was no doubt wondering where the rest of their party had gone off to.

Belle cleared her throat, glaring at the man across from her who was giving her a smug grin, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Perfectly okay,” she said. She turned as movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and there was Bae, peeking around the corner.

Gold seemed to notice her distraction. He turned in his seat and seeing his son, said, “What are you doing? Where’s Neal?”

Instead of answering, Bae looked behind him, and then Neal’s head popped out from behind the wall. They looked at each other, then Bae shrugged.

Soon enough, they had both taken their seats, but Belle couldn’t help but notice Bae’s hesitant glances towards Gaston’s vacated spot.

“He was called back into work,” she offered, wanting to put him at ease. When she glanced at Neal, he was pushing his mac n’ cheese around the bowl, but she saw his shoulders relax.

All too quickly her throat felt tight, and her appetite deserted her. Had she really been so blind to Gaston’s behavior? Clearly he was awful enough that he’d already repelled this sweet little boy in hardly an hour after meeting. And Neal….

The guilt was nearly overwhelming, and it was only the sound of Bae’s voice that made her look up.

“Oh, yeah, there was something we wanted to ask you,” he said, his mouth full of french fries.

Before he could be scolded for manners, Neal perked up and stared straight at Mr. Gold. “Are you a gangster?” he asked.

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Excuse me?”

Bae groaned, “No, that wasn’t it.”

“I wanna know,” Neal shrugged.

“You could have just asked me.”

“Okay, then, is your papa a gangster?”

“Yeah, duh. He has a henchman and everything” he said. “But what he meant to ask—“

“Now hold on,” Gold said, raising a hand in his defense.

“Wait, a henchman? Seriously?” Neal perked up considerably at that.

Bae nodded as he popped another french fry into his mouth. “His name is Dove and he’s a giant. You should see them shake people down for the rent.”

Belle brutally shoved her guilt and self-pity deep, deep down, out of the way where it wouldn’t intrude on what was supposed to be a nice afternoon. She could think about Gaston and her marriage later but right now her two boys deserved her undivided attention.

“Shake downs? My, my, what example are you setting?” Belle asked, but there was no real heat in her words, and she was sure her amusement showed on her face.

Gold gave her a level stare, which only amused Belle more, before he said, rather pointedly, “You had a question?”

Bae perked up. “What time were we born?”

Gold frowned, clearly not expecting the conversation to go in that direction. “Well,” he said, placing his fork on his plate. “You were born at 11:11 at night. Or, rather,” his gaze turned to Neal, the bewilderment and good-natured annoyance draining from his face and leaving behind an unreadable expression, “You were, Neal.”

“11:11?” Neal scrunched his nose. “Seriously?”

“It’s a good number,” Belle defended quietly. “Easy to remember, too.”

“Indeed,” Gold muttered, a tad wistful.

She knew what Gold was feeling. She wondered when exactly the last moment she had held Bae was. Was it right after he had been born, after the time of birth was declared and he was set across her breast, newly swaddled and wailing? Or was it the morning after? Did she at least have the chance to feed him before he was whisked away?

Who could say, and nothing good could come from that train of thought so she shoved that down deep, too.

“What about me? What time was I born?” Bae asked eagerly.

“You were born around 11:40. It was such a long labor, and I remember taking bets with some of the nurses on which day would be your birthday.”

“Around 11:40?” Bae asked frowning.

“I’m afraid I can’t remember the exact time you were born,” Belle admitted. “But I know it was about then.”

“Aw, man,” Bae muttered. His whole body seemed to droop, his frame wilting into his chair. He sadly ate another french fry.

Belle made a choked noise in the back of her throat. “I know exactly where the birth certificate is. I’ll check tonight.”

“No, it’s not that. If I was born close to midnight, that just means I’m younger.”

“Baby brother,” Neal said into his mac n’cheese.

Something in Belle’s chest warmed at that, as suddenly as if she had swallowed a firecracker. When Belle snuck a glance at Mr. Gold, she saw that he was staring at Neal with such longing, such _adoration._ He might be an ass, but she couldn’t deny his capability as a father, not when the proof was currently sticking his tongue out at Neal.

For having his entire world crushed just moments before, Bae perked up considerably quickly. “Can we get ice cream after this?” he asked Belle.

She looked over at Neal, who’s eyes were suddenly bright and expectant.

“If it’s okay with your papa,” she said, wondering why they were asking her first. She liked it, though she wasn’t sure why.

Mr. Gold was suddenly assailed by two sets of doe eyes. “You and your ice cream.” He held out for an admirable seven seconds. “Oh, alright. Finish here, and we can try that shop we saw around the corner.”

“You mean Freezing Point?” Neal asked, excitement evident in his voice.

“Somewhere else you’re fond of?” Gold asked, lip twitching. “I should let you order for me.”

Belle smiled and let herself enjoy the noise. She didn’t scold when Bae and Neal competed to see who could finish their lunch the fastest. When the check came she pushed it over to Gold with a smile and a “Thank you, Mr. Blank Check.” As they walked out of the restaurant together, she didn’t even try to hide her excitement as Bae kept pace with her, chatting about the ice cream parlor in his town.

She left Gaston’s burger on the table.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to update. This chapter was hard, and all these two jerks wanted to do was talk. Hopefully the next one will be out in a more timely manner. :)

The air conditioning in the ice cream shop felt cool against his hot face, and Gold wondered if fall was usually so warm. Maybe it was just the contentment he felt as they all walked in together, Neal hovering at his side, Belle and Bae in front leading them in. Currently they were on the subject of Captain America versus Thor, and that Bae couldn’t wait for the upcoming Marvel movie, though Gold couldn't begin to keep track of what movie that referred to. **  
**

Neal, for his part, hadn’t said much since they left the restaurant, but he had kept pace with Gold, neither falling behind or running to catch up with his mother.

When they entered Freezing Point, both boys ran up to the freezers, noses pressed to the glass cases.

Gold wasn’t sure where to look—his children, happily arguing about which flavor was better and what toppings went with which, or their mother, who hung back smiling at the scene fondly.

He could admit to himself that he was relieved she was smiling again. During lunch, she had looked, well, rather desolate if he were honest. Unsure of herself. A little scared.

As well she should be, a voice hissed in his ear, but he shook it off. As much as he wanted custody of Neal, and as much as he knew he could get it without sacrificing custody of Bae, he meant what he said: taking Neal by force would hurt the boy, and he didn’t want to do that.

It would hurt Belle, too. Looking at her smile, at her bright blue eyes as she watched the children, he realized he didn’t want to do that either.

He could feel the echo of the jolt he felt when he had first laid eyes on her. The dark curly hair framing her strong jaw and round, full cheeks. She had smiled at Baden, so genuine and sweet and open, and before she had even turned those blue, blue eyes on him, he was lost.

Gold couldn’t let her pretty face distract him, though. He forced a neutral expression to his features before he cleared his throat and asked, casually, “Do you come here often?”

He immediately cursed himself for opening his mouth. This wasn't the Rabbit Hole, for Christ’s sake.

Belle turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Often enough. It’s on the way home from school, so sometimes we stop in after practice.”

“Practice?” he asked.

She hummed. “Currently it’s soccer, but it might be flag football soon.”

“He likes sports,” Gold asked, deadpan.

“Quite the opposite,” she murmured, her smile turning rather brittle.

“Hm.” Of course Gold wasn’t surprised that Neal was forced into doing activities he loathed, though he couldn’t quite name what he was feeling just then. Disappointment, maybe. Belle had stood up to him rather amiably, and didn’t allow herself to be bullied. He had rather liked that about her, and he had assumed that she was able to stand up for Neal as well as herself.

Then again, what he had seen of Gaston was a man who was large, loud and abrasive. Maybe their arguments were settled in a much different manner. Just thinking of the possibility had Gold tightening his grip on his cane.

“Mrs. Kingston,” he began, about to demand some sort of explanation, when he felt a tug on his elbow. He looked down, and there was Neal, staring up at him.

“Yes, son?” he asked on reflex.

Something twitched in Neal’s face, but before Gold could identify it (was it good? Had he just ruined everything?) the lad quickly ducked his face and addressed their shoes.

“I got you Death by Chocolate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ice cream.” Neal looked up and his gaze lit back and forth from him to his mother. He frowned, his shoulders hunching slightly as he looked back down. “You said I could order for you?”

Ah, yes. He had said that at the restaurant, hadn’t he. Gold reached out and squeezed Neal’s shoulder. The boy’s arm twitched, as if he were refraining from jerking back, and his muscles were tight, neither of which were really helping to mellow Gold’s nerves.

“Death by Chocolate, eh? I suppose there are worse ways to go.” He tried smiling, but whatever comfort it could have provided was lost when Neal continued to look at the floor. “Is that one of your favorites, Neal?” he asked, changing tactic.

“No.”

Gold let the smile fall from his face. He gave Neal’s shoulder another squeeze and allowed himself to be comforted by the fact that the boy hadn’t pulled away.

“Can I order for you, Miss Belle?” Bae called from the case. “I think you’d like the Pretty in Pink parfait. It has strawberries and graham cracker. Do you like strawberries?”

“I love strawberries, Bae,” she said, stepping forward. As she passed Gold, her hand brushed against the one gipping his cane. She didn’t jerk her hand away at the contact, and she didn’t apologize. Her skin was warm.

Gold looked back at Neal, surprised to see him looking up, face carefully blank.

“Everything alright, lad?”

After only a moment of hesitation, Neal nodded.

“Good.” Gold let go of his shoulder and gestured to the menu board on the wall in front of them. “So, what are you going to get?”

Neal shrugged and remained silent.

Gol wasn’t used to having to fill in gaps in a conversation; honestly, except a select few townsfolk and Bae, he wasn’t used to pleasant conversation period. He had a wild thought that maybe this was how everyone felt talking to him: intimidated, out of their depth, and down-right terrified.

Before he could really start to spiral, he heard Neal say, “I got the moose tracks last time.”

“Ah, fudge and peanut butter. Two very solid options,” he nodded, latching onto the information as if it were a life-raft and he a drowning man. “In fact, they are only made better by the vanilla ice cream. It’s a very good flavor to pick, all in all. Good balance of salty and sweet.”

Neal’s lip twitched, but he nodded in agreement.

Gold counted that as a victory.

Soon enough they all had their ice cream: Bae, ever faithful, got Scooper Hero, and Neal opted for the black licorice concoction, of all things.

When Gold raised his eyebrow at Belle, she just shrugged and said, “I swore to love him despite his questionable taste in ice cream.”

“Black licorice is good,” Neal defended, turning wide pleading eyes in Gold’s direction.

“I think it’s an excellent choice,” Gold found himself saying. “Highly underrated.”

Belle clearly questioned his conviction, but didn’t comment. She did, however, try to pay.

“No, no, go sit down.”

“But you already paid for lunch,” she said, pouting around her spoon, which she stuck in her mouth for safe keeping while she tried to take her wallet out of her purse.

“So I did,” he shooed her away to the table, which he could see the boys had already chosen.

Belle shrugged, accepting defeat and Gold watched as she made her way over to the table, smile bright as she chose the seat to Bae’s right, across from Neal.

Bae said something that Gold couldn’t make out, and Belle laughed. Then Neal said something, eyes wide and bright, and she laughed harder.

All three of them happy and laughing, their smiles bright and wonderful and as quickly as someone dropping a teacup, his good mood shattered. His chest felt tight, as if someone had reached inside his chest and closed a fist around his heart. It just wasn’t fair.

All too soon Belle would take Neal away and they would return to their miserable lives with her miserable husband, and he and Bae would go to back home, an entire state away. He looked down at his bowl of ice cream, so carefully chosen by his son.

Bae had always been enough for Gold. Never once had he found the life he had built for them lacking, even in his doomed, half-hearted relationships. But to see what a family looked like, to watch the mother of his children as they sat there at the sticky table and know in a matter of moments she and Neal would be gone, _hurt_.

Of course, there was another thought niggling in the back of his mind; Gold had never capitulated to the terms Belle tried to set at the restaurant. They had dropped their discussion when the boys had come back to the table. Perhaps it was best they finish it.

He would have liked to adjust his tie or his cuff links, or straighten his suit but between his bowl and his cane, his hands were full. He settled for drawing himself up to his full height and taking a deep, steadying breath.

“Why don't you two sit over there, at the kid’s table,” Gold suggested without preamble as he pulled out the chair next to Neal after setting down his bowl.

The good mood everyone was sharing withered, and immediately Bae was on guard. “That’s his shakedown voice,” he muttered to Neal.

“Baden,” Gold said. “Please.”

“What’s so important that we can’t hear?”

Of course Bae would catch on. A glance at Neal told him that neither one of them were fooled. He should have expected nothing less.

“It’s a matter that you don’t need to worry about.”

“But—”

“Baden,” Gold sighed. “Please, just give me and Mrs. Kingston a few minutes. You and Neal can talk about dinosaurs or girls or whatever it is your common interests are.”

“I haven’t liked dinosaurs for years,” Bae grumbled, even as he started scooting back in his seat.

Neal followed with clear reluctance, and only after his mother smiled at him reassuringly. “I never really liked them at all,” Neal said as they walked away.

“Too scary?”

Neal snorted. “Too boring.”

“Boring? What’s so boring about a reptile that’s as large as a bus and is also a bird?”

Neither Belle or Gold caught Neal’s answer, but they both watched as the boys settled themselves on the colorful plastic table made for kids half their age. Gold guiltily admitted to himself that neither one really fit. It was a darling sight, though—before they left, he’d have to remember to ask for a picture of them together, two growing boys sitting awkwardly with their ice cream, arguing about nothing and everything like brothers should.

There he was, getting ahead of himself again. He needed to focus. He turned to Belle, only to find she was already looking at him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

“You keep doing that.” She said. Her voice was low, and she seemed more exasperated than anything else—no doubt she thought they had said everything they needed to already.

“Doing what?” he asked, defensive.

“Switching back and forth from the warm father to the cold lawyer. It’s hard to keep up.”

Gold wasn’t sure what to say to that, so took a spoonful of his ice cream instead. He was pleasantly surprised, actually. The sweet chocolate ice cream was nicely undercut by the bitter pieces of dark chocolate chunks. He’d have to remember to thank Neal.

Belle rolled her eyes. “We better make this quick. What was it you wanted to talk about now?”

Gold said the first words that came to mind: “He flinched.”

“Flinched? Who did?” she frowned in confusion.

“Neal. When he came up to me about the ice cream, he tensed.”

“Did he tense, or did he flinch, because those are two different reactions,” Belle said slowly, her guard up. She seemed to know what was coming.  

“They really aren’t.” He of all people would know that.

Belle sighed, and then laid her hand over Gold’s where it lay next to his bowl. She squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “Gaston has never been physical with Neal.”

Trust her to get to the heart of the matter. He looked into her steely blue eyes. There wasn’t a shadow of deception, and her gaze spoke of sincerity.

“And you can promise that.”

“I would have noticed,” she said, adamant. “Besides, Neal would have told me.”

“You’re sure he would?” he pressed.

“There’s no love lost between him and his fa—,” she cleared her throat. “Yes, he would have told me. Besides, I have made it clear that he would be believed if he said someone was hurting him.”

Gold didn’t let himself look away from her clear eyes. If it were only for her sake, maybe he could let this go. If there weren’t a child, specifically his child, involved in this, maybe he’d be able to leave it alone and accept who Belle had decided to marry. “Not all hurt is physical, Belle.”

Like he was expecting, her open expression shuttered, and she withdrew her hand.

“I know,” she said softly.

“Why haven’t you left your husband?” Gold asked.

“Neal deserves a father.”

“No, there’s something else.”

She fidgeted nervously with the cuff of her sweater. Maybe pushing wasn’t the best way to make her open up, and maybe under different circumstances he wouldn’t.

“Why haven’t you left Gaston?” he asked again.

He could see her gathering her courage about her like a shield. Belle raised her shoulders and took a forfeiting spoonful of her strawberry parfait.

“I can’t afford to,” she said a little stiffly. “My job is unreliable and given a new string of budget cuts from the city, I might not even have one in a few months, maybe even a few weeks if I’m unlucky.” She bit her lip, her face becoming rather pinched. “And Gaston might not be violent, but he can be vindictive, and petty. He’s the one with the decent, stable job. He’s the one with an apartment in a neighborhood with a good school. He would not hesitate to take Neal from me. As hard as it is for Neal, he still has me. If I left, if he took him, there’s no telling what would happen.”

Neal would be ground into the dirt and left there. Gold swallowed the sudden bad taste in his mouth. He could understand the reasoning, of course: as imperfect as the situation was, it certainly could have been much, much worse.

That didn’t mean he was going to leave it alone.

“If I had offered Gaston twenty grand in exchange for his parental rights, I am quite sure he would have taken it,” Gold said, gathering his thoughts.

“You offered me sixty.”

“I thought any higher would be obscene.”

She snorted. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to suggest,” she said running a hand down her face. She sounded exhausted, but Gold could hear the warning in her voice.

Mr. Gold ran his tongue over his lips, choosing his words carefully. “I do not want that man around Neal.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

He shrugged. “What is it you dislike more—someone just handing you a way out, or that you’re incapable of finding one yourself? I’m sure you could agree that getting a child—your child—out of an unhappy home is much more important than pride.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “We both know you wouldn’t just be handing me anything—”

“Mom, Bae hasn’t read Harry Potter.”

Belle turned, her son at her side watching her with that carefully blank face.

She sniffed. “I’m sorry, he hasn’t what?”

“Read Harry Potter. He hasn’t even seen all the movies.”

Belle looked past him to where Bae was still sitting at the kiddie table, round cheeks tinged red in an embarrassed blush. When he saw he had all of their attention, his face grew redder and he tried to stand up, presumably to come and defend himself or duck into the bathroom to get away, but he moved too quickly and his legs caught on the low plastic of the table. He tumbled backwards, landing hard on his shoulders, legs still thrown over the bench.

“Oh!” Belle was up and out of her seat before Gold could grab his cane. He would have followed but Bae only had eyes for Belle in that moment. She crouched down and helped Bae free himself from the clutches of the table, and she ran a hand through his hair, presumably to check to see if he had hit his head.

Bae had an embarrassed smile on his face, but he wasn’t trying to duck out of reach of Belle’s hands. He was still a little red but his body was angled towards Belle and he clearly wasn’t trying to get away from her fussing, unlike every time Gold had tried to brush him off after a fall. Bae was clearly thrilled at having Bell’s full attention.

Ah, and there was the stab of jealousy he felt as he watched them. How could she be so natural at connecting to Bae? What was he doing wrong, that he couldn’t connect that same way to Neal?

Speaking of, he turned to look at the boy as he stood beside the vacated chair. Instead of looking at Belle and Bae, he was watching Gold carefully. He had done that earlier, too, come to think of it, when Gold had started to jump to conclusions in the first place. He’d stepped right in when Gold was about demand answers from Belle, ready to take whatever tone was meant for his mother. He had seemed to expect some sort of abuse.

“You’re very observant,” Gold said with a fond, sad smile even as a few more pieces of the puzzle worked itself out in his head. Pride at having created such a brave boy pooled in his belly even as anger at Gaston burned as well. Neal should never have had to develop an instinct like that in the first place.

Neal shrugged. He didn’t seem bothered he had been found out, but it was hard for Gold to tell for sure. “I would have been over here sooner, but Bae kept talking,” he said with surprising candidness.

“Yes, he does that,” Gold patted the seat next to him and was elated when Neal plopped down without pause. “I don’t mean to keep upsetting your mother,” he said honestly, risking putting his hand on Neal’s shoulder again. “I’m sorry.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but then his expression was shuttered with surprising speed.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Neal said, shrugging. “Why do you keep doing it then?”

Gold gave a surprised sort of huff. “Because I care about what’s going to happen, and I want it to be as easy as possible.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’ll find that most things don’t as you get older. You made an excellent choice in ice cream, by the way,” he said, changing the subject.

Neal seemed to perk up a little at that, much to Gold’s relief, even though he didn’t say anything else.

“Bae could never sit still long enough for a full story,” Gold said after a few moments, the silence buzzing in his ears. Or maybe it was just him being hyper aware of the pair still talking over by the kiddie table. “I tried to read to him a few times, but it just frustrated the both of us.”

Even as a toddler, Bae was a squiggly lad. It had been a miracle in itself when Gold was able to get him into the bathtub. Of course, Gold was usually exhausted enough after his own long day at work dealing with irate customers and clients, that what Bae did in said bathtub was another matter entirely. That was to say there was little cleaning that actually happened between all the war ships and sea monster sightings.

Bae’s attention span had decidedly improved with age, but since a routine of reading had never really developed, Gold hadn’t tried to force it. Early on, Bae was an explorer of the physical world, not those found in books, and Gold decided not to push it.

“We do the lego blocks most nights, instead,” Gold shared. “Did your mother read you Harry Potter?”

Neal nodded. “All seven. After the first time we marathoned the movies, but we only made it through the first four.”

“The first time?”

“We’ve only read the series together twice,” Belle said, having returned with Bae in tow, and both taking their seats. “But I think he’s read it on his own at least a few more times than that.”

“Wow,” Gold said. He knew as little as he could about one of the biggest pop culture phenomenons in this day and age, but he did know how thick some of those books were. “That’s amazing.”

Gold was thrilled when Neal lifted his chin just a touch.

“I usually skip the first two, though. They’re boring,” he confessed.

“And you were so upset when I told you I couldn’t finish the first book!” Bae laughed, though he tried to looked outraged.

“You stopped half-way through the first chapter.”

“It was boring! How can you think dinosaurs are lame but be able to—”

Just then Belle’s purse started singing. “Sorry,” she said, fishing for her cell phone. After checking the screen, the smile on her face slipped so it was more of a grimace. She stood back up and took the call, walking to the front of the shop so as not to be overheard.

Gold had always known that there was a real world to return to, but it seemed to finally register for Bea and Neal. Both their shoulders slumped, and they shared identical frowns. No one asked who was on the other side of the phone.

“This isn’t...over, right, Papa?”

“No,” he said immediately, knowing it was an honest answer. “Of course not.”

Bae slumped in his seat.

“What is it?”

Bae shrugged. “Storybrooke is so far away.”

If Gold was a man who lived on impulse, he would have promised Bae right then and there that he would buy a new house in Boston and sell the pawn shop. With his experience, Gold had no doubt he could be hired at any of the top firms of his choosing. They could be settled by Thursday.

As it was, Gold did not live on impulse.

“Bae,” he said, waiting until he knew he had his son’s full attention. He waited for the same from Neal. “I can promise you that neither I nor Belle would have started this if we didn’t think we could somehow make this work.” Of course, his intention hadn’t entailed sharing but that was neither here nor there at this point. “We’ll find a way.”

“Yes,” Belle agreed, interjecting a second time, seeming to have finished her phone call. Although she didn’t sit back down. “We will. At present, however, I’m sad to say it’s time Neal and I leave.”

Everyone had finished their ice cream, and there wasn’t much reason for them to linger, besides the obvious.

“Would you and Neal be amiable to driving down to Storybrooke soon?” Gold asked. So much for impulse. “I have plenty of room in my house, but if you’d rather, we have a bed and breakfast in town. I would be more than happy to book you a room.”

“Yes!” Bae said, at the same time Neal asked “Really?”

Belle couldn’t help but smile. “Well, with a reaction like that, how could I refuse.”

“Great. How does next weekend sound?”

“We have a new playground,” Bae said excitedly to Neal. “Like, brand new. It was finished right before school started and it’s awesome.”

“Neal has a soccer tournament Saturday,” Belle said with a frown.

“I don’t mind missing it,” Neal said. The eagerness in his voice as downright heartwarming, even if Gold had a feeling Neal would be willing to to walk over hot coals if it meant missing his game.

Belle was tempted, he could see it in her face.

“You have my number,” Gold said at last. “Whatever you decide, don’t hesitate to call. On either matter,” he added.

“I’ll think about it,” Belle sighed, and he knew that she would.

“So you’ll come? To Storybrooke?” Bae asked, looking back and forth between Belle and Neal.

“Absolutely,” Belle promised, but Gold couldn’t help but note the lack of a soon.

Bae slid out of his seat and wrapped his arms around her middle. “I’m glad I got to meet you,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Me, too,” she said, hugging back. She didn’t let go until Bae did.

“I guess I can try reading Harry Potter again,” he said to Neal.

“It’s okay if you watch the movies instead. You can start on Azkaban, like I do.”

“Cool,” he nodded.

Neal turned to Gold. “Goodbye, Mr. Gold.”

Gold reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He had hoped for a hug but he wasn’t going to push his luck. “Please, call me Aaron. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

With those final goodbyes, Neal and Belle did what Gold knew they would do, and walked out of the shop. Neal was the first to look back. He waved.

With a smile, Gold waved back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, and please enjoy <3

The line of Bae’s shoulders dropped as the seconds passed. Neither he nor his papa said anything for long minutes.

They had all walked to the ice cream place together, so it seemed stupid that Belle and Neal had to walk back alone.

His papa was still sitting, staring at the door, and Bae knew he felt that same.

“If we leave now, we can still catch them,” Bae said.

Gold huffed, and Bae knew right then that he wouldn’t be seeing Belle again that day.

“They seemed to be in a hurry,” Gold said, finally looking away from the door.

“So? We still could have all walked together. We’re going to the same place.”

“I would have only slowed them down,” Gold said, gesturing to his cane, still hooked on the table next to him.

“Then they could have have slowed down,” Bae insisted. “Or just waited.”

His papa sighed. “It’s alright, Bae. This is for the best.”

“But Papa—“

“Baden,” Gold said, his voice hardening slightly. There was no impatience, though; after all, he felt more or less the same as Bae. “You’ll see her again,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Bae took a deep breath, puffing his cheeks up before he blew it out in a rush. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

Gold nodded, reaching out to wrap his arm around his son’s small shoulders for good measure.

“Sometimes people just need time to think,” Gold said, pulling Bae to his side. That Bae didn’t resist told him more about his mindset than words ever could. “We all need to figure out what we want, and how we’re going to get it.”

“That makes sense.” Bae knew that was what he was supposed to say, even though he didn’t understand at all. They all wanted the same thing, didn’t they? There didn’t seem to be much to think about.

Gold gave Bae a squeeze. He reached for his cane, deciding that they had stayed in the shop far longer than necessary. “Let’s head back to the hotel. We can decide what to do after a few hours of rest, eh?”

Bae nodded. “Alright.” He followed his papa out onto the sidewalk. “Hey, can we go to a museum?”

“A museum?” Gold wondered if he had heard that right.

“Yeah, like with paintings and stone people, and stuff.”

“You mean the statues? Or the sculptures?”

“Yes! Those. See, I need to learn stuff. It could be really fun. Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not,” Gold denied, even as he bit his lip to hide a smile. “I just think you’d be bored to tears at an art museum.”

“I would not.”

Gold hummed. “I’ll ask around when we get to the hotel, if you insist.” Gold turned his wrist so he could check his watch. “We might not get much of a break though, depending on what time the museums close here.”

“That’s alright.” They walked together for a few more steps before Bae added, “and we could invite Miss Belle and Neal along, too.”

“What did I say about needing time to think?” Gold tried to look stern, but he was far too amused. Luckily, Bae didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh. Right. Next time, then.”

“You’ll see them again soon enough,” Gold repeated. He had a feeling he’d be saying that quite a lot over the next couple days, for both their sakes.

* * *

 

Neal slid his hand into his mother’s when they crossed the street outside of the ice cream place, and he didn’t let go when they were back on the sidewalk. He didn’t say anything on the walk back and Belle, for her part, didn’t either.

They made it to the car and both settled in their seat. Belle had just started the engine when Neal asked, “Do you like them?”

Belle looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes, I do.”

“Even Mr. Gold?”

She hesitated, but not for long. “I think he’s a great father.”

She must have seen something in his face, because she smiled sadly and added, “I mean it. It’s clear he cares very much about Bae and about you.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“He wants to. Frankly, I think it’s an amazing thing that he loves you as much as he does already without knowing you. It takes a special person to be able to do that.”

Neal thought about that as his mother turned around and put the car into gear.

“You don’t know Bae. Don’t you love him?” Neal asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Of course I do,” she said, glancing at him in the mirror.

“It’s not that special, then.” Neal said.

“I guess that just means we’re both special people,” Belle huffed.

That was something Neal could agree with, at least. It didn’t matter though, because as soon as Mr. Gold did get to know him, he’d realize there wasn’t anything that great about him anyway. Neal wondered if that’s when he’d get mean, like Gaston. He knew on some level that no one could be mean like Gaston was, but Gold still hadn’t been all that nice to his mom.

“He apologized, though,” he said out loud.

“Who did?”

“Mr. Gold. For being mean.”

Belle glanced at him again. “Was he mean to you?”

“No, but he was to you.”

“He wasn’t being mean to me,” she said slowly.

“Yeah, he was.”

Belle slowed down for a red light, softly tapping the steering wheel. “Did you hear any of what he said to me?” she asked.

“No," he admitted reluctantly. “But I saw your face.”

“He wasn’t being mean,” she insisted quietly. “He was being honest, and it took me a little by surprise, is all.”

“Gaston’s never said sorry,” Neal muttered. He thought she might have liked knowing that he had gotten an apology.

Belle sighed. “I’m sorry he had to apologize at all Neal, but I’m glad he did, and that he was able to.”

Neal kept quiet after that.

Finally, they pulled into a parking spot at the apartment, next to Gaston’s truck which looked just as shiny and clean as it always did. Neal glared at it through the window.

When Belle cut the engine, instead of getting out she turned in her seat and climbed over the center console, landing part-way in Neal’s lap and on the floor.

“Mom,” he exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing?”

She settled next to him before unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling him onto her lap, which Neal only resisted a little (there was a difference between cuddling into her shoulder at night and sitting on her lap in broad daylight, after all).

Belle wrapped her arms around him, unmovable.“What about you?” she asked. “How are you feeling?”

Neal finally relented, leaning against her. How was he feeling? It felt like inside him were strings and every one was tangled up with each other, and they all needed attention but he didn’t know which one needed to be first.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

He felt her nod as she rubbed his back. “That’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

Neal kept staring at the truck, at the red paint. A part of him had thought that everything was going to chance, but they had come home just like any other day, and Gaston was inside waiting for them.

As if reading his mind, she said, “Everything might stay the same for awhile, but that doesn’t mean it will forever, okay?”

Tearing his gaze from the pickup, he looked up into his mother’s face. She wasn’t looking at him though, and was instead staring out the windshield, her brow pinched but her face otherwise blank.

“Mom?”

His mother looked down at him, her eyes sad. “I love you so very much, Neal,” she said, hugging him tight. “That’s something I can promise won’t ever change.”

Neal didn’t say anything. He just trailed after her silently when they finally got out of the car, and he stayed behind her when they walked into the apartment. The TV was blaring the sports channel.

“I ordered a pizza,” Gaston said, glancing over when the door opened. “You were taking too long and I figured you could heat up what was left for dinner in a couple...” He trailed off as his gaze landed on Neal.

Gaston craned his neck, as if looking for someone behind the doorway.

“Where’s Bradon?” he asked.

No one said anything for an entire minute—Neal knew it was a minute because he started counting in his head (Bradon Goldstein. It was almost funny). It wasn’t until he was on _sixty-eight hippopotamus_ that his mother spoke.

“Do you think we went to lunch today to switch children?” she asked in a flat voice.

Gaston shrugged, seeming to be unaware that he had said something he shouldn’t have. “Isn’t that what you do when someone else has your kid?”

More long seconds passed (only twenty-three).

“Neal, go to your room.”

He hesitated, not wanting to miss anything important.

“Now, Neal,” she said, by now pinching the bridge of her nose.

Belle waiting until he had disappeared down the hall and into his room, unsurprised when the sound of his door closing didn’t come.

“I just don’t see why we can’t have our kid,” he said before Belle could say anything.

“The problem, Gaston,” she said, exasperated. “Is if you had asked me that night we got the phone call to choose between these two boys, I would have chosen Neal, no hesitation.”

“He’s not our kid!”

“He is in every way that matters! We raised him,” she insisted. “That means something. How can you be so ready to forget nine years of your life?”

He mumbled something, turning to stare petulantly at the TV.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“What did you just say, Gaston?”

“Pizza will be here soon. I didn’t think you’d want to cook tonight anyway.”

Belle took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. After battling it out with Gold, she really didn’t have the stamina to get into a fight with her husband. “It’s been a long and exhausting day,” Belle said in a low voice. “And we have a lot we need to talk about, starting with your abysmal behavior at the restaurant, but I simply do not have the energy for you right now.”

She took her coat off and hung it on the rack that was by the door. She’d have to remember to grab Neal’s and hang his up, otherwise it’d be a crumpled mess on his floor.

“I am going to take a bath.”

“Hey, wait, where's my burger?” He called after her but Belle had already started for the bathroom.

She she shut the door, shutting him out along with his stupid sports channel.

Finding that she didn’t have any bubble bath was an unwelcome surprise, so she used some of Neal’s. There was something to be said for grape flavored baths, after all. Belle carefully lowered herself into the tub, closing her eyes in relief as the hot water covered her to her shoulders. Oh, but she needed this after her day.

God, Gaston couldn’t even remember his name.

It felt like they were all in some bad movie, what with how poorly Gaston had been acting. As confrontational and pig-headed as he usually was, she had thought he’d known better than to pick a fight in front of strangers, much less their estranged son and his father.

She’d have to find out what his excuse for that was. Maybe if she could just understand what was going on in his head, they could fix everything. Well, maybe not fix. Mend, at least. If Gaston was willing to make things work, if he was willing to act like an actual functioning adult, then maybe they could move past this.

If not, they wouldn't stay.

 _Ugh, everything would be so much easier if the kids were just younger,_ she thinks. If they were still nice and compact there would have been no problem at all, just an admission of guilt and an easy take-back. Then again, she could hardly entertain the thought of not having raised Neal. He was her boy, and she could never regret that. And now she had Bae, too, and that wouldn’t have happened if they had caught the switch when the kids were toddlers.

God help her, but a part of her had hoped meeting Baden for the first time would be just like meeting any other child. Bae could so easily have been one of Neal’s classmates, or a neighbor down the hall. He'd be cute, sure, but easy to distance herself from, to simply pat on the head before sending him back to his father. How she should have known better: the moment she saw his face she was lost.

Belle sighed, sinking further into the water. No, she could never regret any of this. She only hoped that when all was said and done, she would still able to say that was true.

* * *

Bae lasted until Tuesday night.

Really, it was quite a long time when he thought about it, and far longer than anyone could possibly have expected of him, which was exactly what he was going to tell his papa if he got caught.

Usually when returning home, Gold would shed his coat, hanging it in the closet before heading into the study with the mail, where he always took off his suit jacket.

Bae had waited until his papa had moved to the kitchen to start dinner before sneaking into the study and very carefully squirreling away his papa’s cell phone from the pocket of the jacket. He had never been more relieved that his father still had a flip-phone that could only make calls—since his father didn’t do much work from home, its disappearance wouldn’t be noticed until much later.

Not to mention there weren’t any passcodes Bae had to crack. Honestly, you would think his father would realize how easy it was to hack into the dinky little cell phone, but whatever. All the better for Bae.

He hadn’t meant to wait until bedtime, but he hadn’t been alone for any good amount of time before then, and Bae knew that if he got caught too early any chance of a second try was lost.

It was all he could do to wait until after his father had tucked him into bed and turned off his light. Bae could feel himself vibrating with the effort it took to sit still as the sound of his steps faded down the stairs.

He pulled the phone from under his pillow where he had stashed it, and scrolled through the contact list. He almost missed what he was looking for, his eyes scanning right over the first name, which read _ABelle Kingston_. He squinted his eyes, wondering at the typo.

 _Odd_ , Bae thought, but he didn’t have any reason to think why it wasn’t who he was looking for. If it wasn’t her, then he’d just hang up. Easy.

He pressed the green call button, and held his breath as the line rang.

Someone answered on the fourth ring. “Mr. Gold,” Belle said in surprise. “Good evening.”

“No, it’s me,” he said quickly, surprised at the relief that swelled in his chest. “It’s Bae. It’s me, Bae.”

“Baden,” the new happiness in her voice made him feel warm in a way his blankets never could. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I, uh, I’m good.”

“Is everything alright?”

Bae swallowed. “...you didn’t call. So I...did.”

It had been fine when his papa told him that no, they wouldn’t have the chance to see them Sunday before they left Boston and came home. There hadn’t been any calls made, it had just been decided. It was fine.

There hadn’t been any calls Monday either. That was also fine.

But then it was Tuesday and it wasn’t fine anymore.

There was a long pause, which gave Bae just enough time to think that maybe Belle hadn’t called because she didn’t want to talk to him, and oh _no this was a mistake_ —

“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to,” she admitted.

Bae sniffed, annoyed at the sudden tears that he could feel behind his eyes. “Because you’re still thinking?”

“Thinking about what?”

“I don’t know. But Papa said that we all needed time to think.”

Belle made a sound of understanding. “He’s a smart man, your papa. Yes, I have been thinking, but I think I’d rather talk to you right now.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s cool,” Bae said, laying back against his bed.

There was a pause as they both waited for the other to start. He stared at the ceiling.

“So,” Belle finally said. “How was school? Did you have a lot of homework since you missed last Friday?”

“Nah. When I told my teacher I was meeting my mom for the first time, she said I’d be excused from everything.”

Belle laughed. “Did she really? How nice of her.”

“Yeah, she likes me.” Mrs. Nolan was the mother of his best friend, Emma. They had both been really excited about the news when Bae told them.

“What about the rest of your day?”

Bae got comfortable in bed as he started on what he had learned in school, and what he had done when he had come home. Sometimes she’d ask questions, but mostly it was her humming in his ear, or laughing at all the right places.

“We rebuilt my Millennium Falcon until it was bedtime, and now that’s where I am. In bed,” he said.

“Wait, your papa already tucked you in? Does...does he know you’re calling me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bae said. Shoot. He hadn’t meant to say that. Hopefully she wouldn’t hang up.

“More importantly, you just played Legos tonight? Doesn't your father read to you?” she asked, sounding absolutely horrified.

“I mean, he used to,” Bae said. “But that’s baby stuff—”

Bae stopped abruptly when his lights flicked on. With the hand not clutching the cell phone, he pushed himself up to his elbow to see his father standing in his doorway, looking thoroughly unamused.

“Papa,” he said.

“Bae.” His eyebrow was raised.

He could hear Belle laughing through the speaker. “Busted,” she said.

At least she wouldn’t yell at him. And she hadn’t hung up yet, for all that mattered now.

Silently, Gold limped into the room and sat down on Bae’s bed. He held his hand out.

“I think he wants to talk to you,” Bae said.

“Oh, oh, hold on,” Belle said, but she sounded far away as he was already handing the cell phone over.

“Hello, Belle, I—Ah, N-Neal. Hi.”

Bae perked up. He crawled out from under his blankets to his papa, trying to hear what Neal was saying. Gold angled the phone so they could both listen.

“—Harry Potter yet?” Neal asked.

Gold looked at Bae expectantly. He almost rolled his eyes; of course that was the first thing Neal would ask.

“Ah, no, Neal, I don’t think he has started to read the books yet.”

“Oh, well. I checked out a book about the Cretaceous period yesterday, but the Pachycephalosaurus hasn’t been mentioned yet.”

“The Pachy…” his papa looked over at Bae. “That one sounds familiar.”

“The ones with the monk spikes on their skull helmet.” Bae explained. He had told Neal that one was his favorite when they were at ice cream last weekend, but he didn’t think Neal would remember, much less go looking for a book. “They don’t show up until pretty late in the period, though.” he said louder, so Neal could hear.

He promised himself that he’d start Harry Potter tomorrow.

“I might just skip then, although the pictures of the eaten—what?”

Belle’s voice replaced Neal, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He pressed closer to his papa.

“Hey, Mom says we’re coming to visit you this weekend.”

“Really?” Bae said, his voice loud in the quiet of the room. He jumped up and off his bed. “ _Really_? You’re coming here?”

“Bae,” his papa held up a hand, cell phone situated against his ear, but Bae could see the smile on his face. “I can’t—no, Neal, of course it’s okay.”

“Papa, they’re coming here!”

“Great. Now I’ll never get him to bed. No, no, it’s—yes, of course,” he said into the phone. “Goodnight, Neal. Sweet dreams.” There was a pause, then his father said, “Belle, hello, yes, we’re both thrilled. I’ll send you the directions tomorrow.”

“Can we call again?” Bae said quickly. “Tomorrow, can we call?”

Gold looked at him. “I think it’s obvious I’d have a hard time stopping you.” He held out the phone. “Here, say goodnight.”

Bae pressed the phone to his ear. “Are you coming down Friday, like we did? If you go fast, you might be able to get here in two hours, instead of three—”

“Baden,” his papa said.

“Goodnight, Miss Belle,” he said obediently. “Tell Neal ‘night, too.”

He was met with her warm laughter, the sound filling his ear. He pressed the phone closer. “Good night Bae. I’ll talk to you soon, alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Reluctantly he handed the phone back to his father.

He listened carefully as Gold said his own goodbyes to Belle, but he didn’t mention this weekend again before he hung up.

With nothing else to do, Bae let himself be led back under the covers while his papa tucked the blankets under his chin.

“You could have just asked, then we at least could have spoken at a reasonable hour.”

Bae shrugged. “Sorry.”

Gold ruffled his hair, chuckling when Bae scooted down into his nest of covers to get away. “No you’re not.”

He wasn’t in the slightest: if he hadn’t called, Belle might not have decided to come visit. “What do you think we should do?” Bae said. “I want to show Neal the new park, and he can meet Emma. Oh, and Grannie’s! They need to try her lasagna! We should take them around to the old well, too—they won’t have that in the city—”

“Oh, my darling boy, we’re going to talk about it more when it’s not bedtime,” Gold said decisively. “You have school tomorrow, Bae.”

He blew a big breath through his nose. He hadn’t gotten a stern talking to, plus he had the weekend to look forward to now, so it seemed fair to do what his papa wanted. He couldn’t believe it was only Tuesday, and that he was going to have to wait. He didn’t even know when Belle and Neal were coming yet, though he hoped it was Friday. He wouldn’t have to wait as long then.

He was never going to get to sleep.

“Hey, Papa?” he asked.

“Yes, Bae?”

“Will you read to me?”

Gold looked surprised for a moment, but didn’t comment on how odd the request was. “Of course.” He turned to the bookshelf that mostly acted as a stand for his legos and other toys. “Did you have a request?”

“Not really.”

Gold picked something at random before reclaiming his seat on the bed. Bae didn’t recognize the cover, but listened as well as he was able when his mind was still whirling with plans and hopes. His papa read until Bae had drifted off, where he dreamed of warmth and long car rides, and magic bones found underground.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this in two cause the second half is being a right pain in the arse and I was getting impatient. Also these two jerks keep wanting to talk. I promise things are going to start happening soon.

 

The diner looked like most diners did on the inside: a large room with cushy booths lining the walls, a smattering of tables in between, and a bar with eight swivel stools. The floor was a shiny, white-tiled linoleum, and the smell of grease from the fryers in the kitchen hung heavy in the air. Belle looked around, checking to see if Gold and Bae were already sitting at a table.

“Fucking genetics, man,” she heard.

Belle looked up at the startlingly striking face of a women by the register. Her white shirt was tight and seemed to be missing the first three buttons, a white name tag, which read Ruby, was pinned to chest. Her red shorts were most definitely a health code violation. The woman, who towered over Belle in bright red heels, had her eyes currently glued to Neal’s face.

“Excuse me?”

At the sound of her voice, her eyes snapped to Belle. “Holy hell,” she muttered, her round eyes going back and forth from Belle to Neal. “I mean, look at your face! Look at his, for fuck’s sake. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you took part in some sort of cloning experiment.”

“What are you prattling on about now?” an old woman asked, emerging from the back. She had sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. A single, pointed eyebrow raised at the sight of Belle.

“Have you ever seen a greater feat of human copy-paste?” Ruby asked, turning towards the woman.

“The rumors are true,” the old woman said, looking from Neal to Belle like the waitress had (she did not have a convenient name tag, but Belle had a feeling she was the one and only Grannie). “Who could have guessed.”

Ruby snorted. “Please, Bae’s been telling anyone who would listen about finding his new mom. Rumor my ass.”

“Watch your language,” Granny snapped with a pointed look towards Neal.

“Mom, she’s scaring me for life,” Neal said tugging on Belle’s hand.

By now they had the attention of most of the diner, the quiet din of conversation coming to a halt as everyone took notice of what was happening at the front. Belle could feel a blush creeping up her neck as she felt herself scrutinized.

“He’s not so young or innocent,” she assured the waitress.

Considering the smirk on her face, Belle need not have bothered. “Probably for the best, that.” Ruby flashed a rather large set of canines.

“Do we seat ourselves, or...?”

Ruby cocked her hip. “A table for four, I take it? Is it okay to assume you’ve come to meet the Beast?”

“The Beast?” Neal said, catching on immediately. “Is that his mob name?”

“Neal, Mr. Gold is not a gangster,” Belle sighed. She just wanted to sit down.

“He never denied it,” Neal muttered.

Ruby gave the boy a sideways look. “Trust your instincts, kid.”

Belle opened her mouth to say something along the lines of “don’t encourage him,” but was interrupted by something colliding into her side and nearly knocking you to the polished floor.

“Hi, Miss Belle!” Bae said, arms tight around her waist in a vice. When she looked down into his bright blue eyes, she felt every trace of annoyance with the waitress vanish.

“Hello, Bae,” she said with a smile that rivaled his. “I was almost afraid you had gotten lost.”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging as best he could with his arms wrapped around her middle, “No one ever gets lost in Storybrooke.”

“No?” Belle asked, making a show of looking around. “You seemed to have lost your father.”

Bae seemed immune to the teasing, such was his delight. “I’m just faster than he is.” He turned his head, spotting Neal on the other side of Belle. “Hey,” he said.

Neal’s lip twitched. “Hello.”

Bae turned to Ruby, who had made no new move to direct them to a table. “This is Miss Belle,” he said, finally lowering his arms. He stayed close to her side, though.

“Belle,” Ruby smiled, flashing her canines again. “How nice to officially meet you. And you must be Neal.” She hummed, looking him up and down. “Yeah, Bae said you were cool.”

Neal shrugged and looked down at his shoes, but Belle smiled fondly when she saw his ears go pink.

A throat clearing pulled all their attention to the door, and there stood Mr. Gold, who looked impeccable in another suit—a dark pin-stripe complete with waistcoat, purple shirt with matching tie. His eyes looked from Belle to Neal, nodding his hello.

“I trust the drive was fine?” he asked.

“The drive was great,” Belle answered with a smile, running her hand through Bae’s hair just because she could.

“There has to be a dozen sociologists with their ears burning right now,” Ruby said, though whether to them or to Granny was unclear.

“Quit gabbing and point them to a table, would you?” Grannie said with a roll of her eyes before turning back into the kitchen.

“We should at least call Archie,” Ruby called after her.

“Are you quite done, Miss Lucas?” Gold asked, his lips flattening into a line.

“I suppose for now,” she sighed dramatically, finally reaching for the menus. “A booth okay?”

“Please,” Gold said, gesturing for the rest of them to follow after the waitress as she flounced to a booth as far away from the other patrons as possible. To be fair, it wasn’t that far at all, but Belle could appreciate the gesture. She was less appreciative of the eyes she felt as they walked to the table

As if reading her mind, Gold said, “You’re the one that suggested we go to lunch first.” He seemed hardly bothered by the attention.

It was true, it had been her idea, but only because they had gotten a later start than she had anticipated. It just made more sense to give him a call on their way out of Boston and ask to meet at the diner, what with lunch being inevitable anyway. Belle should have realized that newcomers tended to attract attention in small towns, even if they weren’t in Belle’s unique position. There was nothing for it now, and as it became clear that neither her nor Neal were about to start dancing on the tables, most everyone turned back to their own meals and conversations.

Neal and Bae slid into opposite sides of the booth, with Belle and Gold following them. Ruby took their drink order quickly, then disappeared back to the kitchen.

“You should try the lasagna,” Bae said before Belle could even reach for a menu. “It’s Grannie’s specialty.”

“Really?” Belle asked. She was leaning towards a hamburger herself, but she could be convinced. Especially when Bae looked at her with his blue eyes, wide and hoping.

“She is known for it,” Gold agreed, but didn’t say anything else, which Belle was tempted to find suspicious.

“I’ll get the lasagna if you do,” Belle said to Bae, who happily agreed.

“Do you know what you would like?” Gold asked Neal, who was currently reading through the list of lunch specials carefully.

“You should get the lasagna, too,” Bae piped up. Neither he nor Gold had bothered opening their own menus.

Neal looked up at him. “Is it good here?” he asked flatly.

“Yeah, it’s the best.”

“So you think that’s what I should get? The lasagna?”

“Yeah, of course,” Bae nodded, his curls bouncing.

“Neal,” Belle started, but was interrupted by Ruby.

“Here we are,” the waitress said brightly, placing the drinks on the table. “You guys all set to order?”

“Me and Miss Belle want the lasagna,” Bae said.

“Miss Belle and I,” Gold corrected as Ruby wrote it down. “Neal are you ready?”

He shrugged. “I’ll get it too, I guess.”

“Right-O,” Ruby said. “And you, Mr. Gold?”

“I think I’ll have a hamb—”

“You don’t want lasagna?” Bae interrupted.

Ruby smirked, her hip cocked. “Yeah, Mr. Gold, you don’t want lasagna?”

Belle was rather glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of Gold’s glare right then, but the waitress didn’t even bat an eye.

“I thought you were going to get it too,” Neal said.

Gold looked between Neal and Bae. He seemed a little lost, and a lot out of his depth.

“Very well,” he sighed, not quite being able to hide his grimace.

Belle smiled into her glass of iced tea. “And licorice ice cream for dessert?” she asked. Honestly she couldn’t blame Gold in the slightest—she had crumbled herself, after all, and she’d only had one pair of puppy-dog eyes to contend with.

Gold gave her a look, but refrained from commenting. Just as well, because Bae was more than happy to do it for him: “Licorice? Yuck.”

“It’s good,” Neal defended.

“Is not. Licorice tastes like dirt and nightmares.”

Neal bristled. “Scooper Hero is just vanilla that’s been dyed a bunch of colors.”

“Oh, right for the jugular,” Ruby said, snapping her order book closed before she took the menus off of the table. “I’m telling you guys, you could get some major press if you share this story. Think of the fighting about Nature versus Nurture! I can’t be the only one to see it.”

Belle watched Bae shoot Neal a confused look. Neal shrugged in response.

“Yes, Miss Lucas, thank you,” Gold said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ruby!” Grannie called from across the diner, cutting off any response the waitress had. “Order up!”

“Duty calls,” she said walking away. “Your lasagna will be out soon.”

There was a moment of silence at the table. And then: “I guess if you eat licorice it means I don’t have to,” Bae said, calling truce.

“Scooper Hero doesn’t taste like vanilla anyway,” Neal conceded.

Belle was rather proud that the boys were able to come to an understanding so quickly. Not that she expected it to come to blows of course.

“So Neal.” Gold cleared his throat. “How is school going?”

“Fine.”

“Tell him about your field trip Thursday,” Belle prompted.

Gold raised his eyebrows, lips forming an O. “A field trip? Where’d you go?”

She admired the open expression on his face, how he leaned forward in anticipation of Neal’s answer. It was so sweet, how eager Gold looked.

Belle frowned, the warm feeling gone as abruptly as it had come. She shouldn’t be so impressed that Gold’s interest was genuine. It should be standard, the bare minimum, that a father be interested in his son’s life.

“We went to the Science Museum. We saw the whale exhibit.”

“Oh!” Bae said, sitting up in his seat. “We went there, too! They had a life-size whale hanging from the ceiling! It didn’t even look like plastic. Did you see the airplanes?”

“We only saw the whales. We’ve been studying ocean stuff in school, so that’s why we went.” Neal said shrugging.

Bae leaned back. “Oh. I liked the planes.”

“Did you go last weekend?” Belle asked. “When you were visiting us?”

“Uh-huh. I wanted to go to an art museum, but Papa said it’d be boring, so we went there instead.”

“Better choice,” Gold said, one side of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile. Belle saw a flash of a gold cap on one of his bottom teeth. “What did you learn about whales?”

“They’re big,” Neal said, reaching for his glass of lemonade.

“That’s all?”

Neal took a swallow from his straw. “They sing to each other. It’s pretty. And sad.”

“Their hearts are not as a big as a car,” Bae added. “Which is lame.”

“It would be cooler if they were bigger,” Neal agreed.

Bae started talking about all the different models of old planes he had seen, and it stretched until Ruby came back with their lunch. Gold didn’t try to prompt Neal again, but he seemed to take what he had gotten out of him as a small victory.

Bae was right: the lasagna was good. Belle was worried Gold would go hungry, what with his odd aversion, but he ate his portion without complaint.

Soon enough, she excused herself to the bathroom, sliding out of the booth. She had finished and was washing her hands when the door swung open, revealing Ruby. She slipped in with a smile that looked slightly manic and closed the door behind her. Instead of heading for a stall, she stood still, watching as Belle reached for paper towels.

“Hey, sorry to just ambush you, but this is, uh, important? Maybe? I just need a moment.”

“Should I worry about reporters or, heaven forbid, rabid scientists showing up on my doorstep?” Belle asked, her eyebrow raising.

“Oh god, of course not. That’s all just a joke, honestly. I’ve discovered it’s safer to tease Goldie when Bae’s around—there’s far less chance of retaliation,” She smiled, a little smug. “Besides, Bae thinks it’s hilarious. Either that or he can’t tell I’m doing it.” Her eyebrows drew down, her smile softening. “He is such a bright kid, but sarcasm goes right over his head. It is so goddamn cute.”

“I’ve noticed that, yes.” Belle threw the used towels in the trash. “Alright. Shoot.”

Ruby took a deep breath. “Look, I know nothing of your situation or...arrangement with Mr. Gold, but, uh, so.“ Ruby shifted from foot to foot. He eyes wandered around the bathroom, looking at everything but Belle. “You’re going to hear a lot of things about him if you’re in town long enough. Hell, I can say a lot about Mr. Gold, and god only knows that I do rather cheerfully,” she said with a nervous laugh, “but he’s a good father. And you especially should appreciate that since it’s coming from someone who loathes the very core of him.”

Belle couldn’t help but laugh. Ruby didn’t come off as a woman who would merely tease someone she loathed. Go after them with a crossbow, more like, but not tease.

“I’m telling you, it speaks to my impeccable character,” Ruby insisted.

“These things I’ll hear, they don’t happen to be about how Gold is too clever for his own good, only out for his own self-interests, and is a right bastard?”

“Oh, well, yeah.” She nodded once, then shrugged. “I just want to make it clear that he’s not a danger to your child, I guess? Like, he’s not heartless; there’s just no way Bae could have turned out like he has if Gold were _everything_ the town makes him out to be. Like, I don’t care how much of your personality he might have gotten.”

Belle nodded. “You might be right about that. As much of an ass I find him sometimes, I believe him when he says the boys come first.”

“Well, then, good.” She chewed her lip, weight shifting back and forth on her feet awkwardly, which drew Belle’s eyes to her heels again. They were cute, but she wondered how Ruby was able to waitress in them. “So you guys staying a while?”

“Just for the weekend,” Belle said. “We’re going back to Boston tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh,” Ruby said. She deliberated for a moment. “You should totally hit me up when you’re back in town. You know, if you come back. I could show you the truly stellar night life that Storybrooke has to offer, and I’m totally not above decking it out with your kids for your time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Belle said, as Ruby finally moved so she could open the door.

Gold watched them approach the table together and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. From the corner of her eye, Belle saw Ruby’s smile grow into a smirk.

“Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Gold?” Ruby asked as Belle slid back into her seat.

“It was adequate.”

“I see you were able to clear your plate,” she said as she picked up all their empty dishes. “I’ll be right back with the check,” she called over her shoulder as she turned towards the kitchen.

“So,” Belle said, “What’s the plan?”

“There is _so much_ to do,” Bae said, leaning forward.

“We had a few ideas,” Gold chuckled before Bae could elaborate. “It mostly depends on you.”

“Like if we don’t want to do something?” Neal asked.

“Of course, but also if you were going to stay with us and what time you were planning on leaving tomorrow.”

“We have your rooms picked out. Yours is right next to mine, Neal, and you have a dresser and a desk and Papa bought—“

Gold coughed. “Or you can stay at the inn. I’m sure Miss Lucas would be more than happy to book a room for you.”

“No,” Bae snapped, “they’re staying with us. We have their rooms,” he repeated.

“Baden,” Gold said.

Bae sighed and slid down in his seat so all Belle could see was his forehead and mop of hair. “Sorry, Papa.”

“You don’t have to decide now, but you have options,” he continued smoothly.

“Papa said he’d make eggs in a basket for breakfast,” Bae said to the floor.

“Eggs in a basket?” Neal said, puzzled, and Belle wondered if he was picturing an Easter basket with colored eggs. Not that she was, or anything.

Bae shot up again, his knee hitting the underside of the table in his hurry, rattling the glasses. “You’ve never had eggs in a basket? You have to stay with us then!”

“What say you, Neal?” Belle laughed, even as Gold’s arm shot out to keep anything from spilling. “Do you want to stay in a room with a dresser and a desk tonight?” Belle asked.

“What’s eggs in a basket?” he asked again, eyes narrowing as he looked across from Gold to Bae.

“Stay and you’ll find out.”

“Bae,” Gold said again, exasperated.

“We don’t make them here,” Ruby said, having returned with the check. “We only serve a breakfast of hard tack and lukewarm coffee,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at him.

Neal frowned at her, unamused. “Fine,” he huffed, but the corner of his mouth lifted a little in answer to Bae’s wide excited smile.

“I would have thought you’d mourn the business,” Gold said, waving away Belle’s protests of paying for her and Neal as he pulled out his wallet.

“On the contrary. I’m starting a betting pool on how long it’ll take these boys to tear your house down about your ears. Then you’ll all be stuck at the inn.”

“Don’t you have other customers?” Gold asked, but he looked so pleased it was hard to take the bite of his words seriously.

“Excuse you, Ruby. We are perfect gentlemen.” Squaring his shoulders, Bae once more straightened up in his seat.

“I don’t know,” Ruby said, shoving the cash Gold handed her in her apron without even glancing at it. “Something tells me you two shouldn’t be left alone together.”

“Trust your instincts,” Neal said.

Ruby gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Well said. Christ, it’ll be something having you here.” Grannie called her from the kitchen, another order ready in the window, but she hesitated at their table. “It was good to meet you two,” Ruby said, with one last parting smile. “Don’t be strangers, all right?” She turned, heels clicking as she walked away.

“Can we go to the park first?” Bae asked.

* * *

 

The park was modern and of a modest size, an almost oasis of plastic and metal built atop soft wood chips and erected on the outskirts of a forest. Despite the open space and the parking lot, the surrounding trees gave the illusion of privacy and safety. Maybe that’s why it was comfortable to sit on one of the benches with Gold and watch as Neal and Bae ran around. Despite it being a Saturday, there was no one else around so it was easy to think they were alone in the world for just a little while.

It was a cold, breezy day and the sun was hiding behind the clouds, but Belle felt nothing but warmth swirling in her chest as she watched the boys chase each other up the equipment and down the slide.

Belle took a sideways glance at Gold, unsurprised to see his eyes also trained on the boys, drinking in their every movement. A part of her wondered if he could somehow hear what they were saying as well, despite the bench they were seated at being too far away to possibly catch anything.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He startled, his his head swiveling to her. “Sorry?”

“You were looking kind of intense there.”

The corner of his mouth drew up, even as he averted his eyes. “I was just, hm. Thinking.”

“Clearly. About what?”

Gold shrugged, turning back to where Bae was now pointing at something in the woods, Neal an avid listener beside him.

“How is your husband doing?” Gold asked.

Belle would bet all the money in her bank account that had been the last thing on his mind. She leaned back on the bench, turning so she faced him.“You care about Gaston,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me.”

He tapped the handle of his cane, held securely between his legs. “Why didn’t he come with you?”

Belle paused. That still wasn’t what he wanted to ask. She wondered what he was avoiding.

“He opted to make this a bachelor’s weekend,” Belle finally said, which was the truth. “Catch up with friends and maybe some work. Things like that.”

Turning slightly towards her, he frowned. “I admit my relief at only hosting you and Neal, but surely he has some interest in his children?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say _only the child he shares biology with_ , but it would no doubt only make Gold angry and she certainly didn’t need to fuel that fire.

“I didn’t really invite him,” she said instead. “I got the impression that he wouldn’t be welcomed.” She had felt a little bad about that, but Gaston hadn’t pushed to be included, which spoke volumes about his real interest. “On some level, we both knew that him coming with us would ruin the trip for everyone involved.”

“Indeed it would have,” Gold murmured. His eyes were drawn back to the playground. “Have you thought about my offer?” he asked in the same quiet voice.

Belle swallowed. “Some,” she admitted.

For the past week, Belle had been avoiding Gaston when she could. It was depressingly easy, since he hadn’t come home for after work, which most nights extended to not making it to dinner. Belle would go to bed alone, then find he’d have already left by the time she got up to make Neal breakfast. The only way she’d known he’d been home at all was a pile of his dirty clothes in the hamper.

She just wasn’t ready to have such a heavy conversation with him yet—Belle knew that Gaston just needed time to think about their future. He’d accept that Neal fit into it.

“I still need to talk with my husband,” she said, looking down into her lap.

“Avoiding you, is he? Maybe he’s having an affair.”

“You don’t have to sound so optimistic.”

“Forgive me. It’s just I know a truly exceptional divorce lawyer. I’ve heard he works locally.”

Belle gave him a thoroughly unamused look. “I’m pretty sure there’d be a conflict of interest.”

“Who said I was talk about myself? I did tell you there were two of us in town.”

“Alright, what about this other lawyer then?”

“George is a prick and I wouldn’t trust him as far as my car could drag him,” Gold said cheerfully.

“What a ringing endorsement.”

“Maybe you should go with the other guy, after all. I could get you a great rate.”

Belle rolled her eyes, more amused then she was willing to admit. “Right, and what would that be? Signing away my literal first born? What a bargain.”

He smiled at her, lips turning upward in a crooked smile. “If I have my way, there won’t be a need for lawyers. All he’ll have to do is sign the paperwork.”

“You seem pretty sure it’s going to happen, considering I haven’t decided if I want to get divorced in the first place. I’ll remind you he’s _my_ husband”

That wiped the smile from his face. Belle would have felt almost smug, except for what he said next.

“He said your son is useless, Belle. A man who’d say such a cruel thing to a child has no business being a father.”

Belle looked away, finding Neal on the playground. She watched as he slid down the highest slide, then turned to shout back at Bae, still high off the ground.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears.

“If money is the issue, I would be more than happy to support you financially—”

Belle cleared her throat. “I’m feeling a little cold. Are you cold?” Belle stood up, stretching her arms. “Odd, how hard it is to stay warm just sitting on a park bench.”

When Belle turned back, Gold was staring down at his cane, a small frown on his face. “Yes, quite the phenomenon,” he said.

“Mama!”

Belle’s head whipped around to the shout, not knowing whose voice it was. When she saw Bae running towards her she spread her arms wide, ready for him as he barreled into her. Behind him was Neal, further back and trotting at a more sedate pace.

“Can we go to the old well?” Bae asked, panting, his cheeks and nose flushed a healthy red. “The trail is really close and the path shouldn’t be soggy anymore.”

“Soggy?”

“It rained most of last week, which tends to lead to mud,” Gold said helpfully. “As dry as I’m sure it’ll be, Bae, Belle mentioned she was feeling a little chilly,” Gold said, using his cane to stand.

“And the sun will have set by the time we make it back I bet,” Belle said, brushing Bae’s hair back from his forehead. “We can see it some other time.”

“Oh. Like tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Belle allowed, smiling as Neal reached them, face also red from the cold. “I would think you two would be popsicles by now.”

“Popsicles?” Neal said, eyebrows raising in interest.

“Oh, are we going to Any Given Sundae?”

“You cannot possibly want ice cream now,” Gold said.

“Why not?” Bae looked over to Neal. “We have a good ice cream place. Excellent flavors.”

“No more ice cream,” Gold said firmly, but Belle could hear the laugh he was fighting back. “How about we go home and I’ll make some hot chocolate instead?” Both boys agreed readily, to Belle’s relief.

She sighed as she entered her car, waiting to turn the ignition until she heard the click of Neal’s seatbelt. As she watched for Gold to pull his cadillac out in front of her, she thought back to that conversation on the bench.

The future was coming up quickly, and Belle wondered how ready she was to face it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times do you think I can put "this chapter was super hard and almost took me out back of the barn and put me out my misery" in the notes before y'all realize I'm a poser?
> 
>  
> 
> (Thank you for reading, and for your comments. I'd have given up long ago if not for you <3)

****Neal understood now what Bae meant when he had said no one ever got lost in Storybrooke. **  
**

He and his mom didn’t say anything on the drive to Mr. Gold’s, but that was mostly because by the time they had gone down the road from the park and taken a left, the street was lined with houses and Mr. Gold’s car had pulled into a driveway.

Belle parked next to the sidewalk and turned off the engine. They both looked at the house they had arrived at.

“It’s pink,” Neal said.

“So it is.” She ducked her head so she could better look out the window. “That’s quite the Victorian. Look at those spires,” she said.

“Those aren’t spires,” he corrected, his eyes drawn up.

“No?”

“Houses are too small. They’re only on skyscrapers.”

“Alright smartypants, what should we call them then?”

“...points.” Admittedly, calling them “points” didn’t seem right. And the three—or was it four?—separate sections of the house weren’t towers either. But they definitely weren’t spires.

Belle huffed. “Points. Sure.” She reached into the passenger side for her purse.

Neal stayed staring out the window. The house was big with a wide porch that had nine steps. The yard was also big, with lots of green grass even though it was cold enough to wear a coat, and two trees that weren’t big enough to climb.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother look back at him from the front seat. “Hey,” she said, “it’s alright if you changed your mind about staying here.”

“It’s not that,” he said, frowning.

“What is it then?”

“It’s _pink_.”

“Is that bad?”

“Pink is a girl’s color.”

“When it’s on a house, I hardly think a color belongs to anyone. Come on.”

With no real reason not to, he opened the door and got out. Bae was already waiting by the front door, waving for them to hurry, and Mr. Gold was by the trunk of his car standing with both hands on his cane.

“Did you need help with the bags?” he asked as they approached.

“I can grab them later. They’re no trouble.”

Neal started for the steps to the porch, but part-way up something in the bushes caught his eye. He turned, expecting to just see a big rock. And it was, probably, but when he turned to really look, it had legs.

“Right, well,” Mr. Gold said.

Neal waited for them to walk past him up the porch before dropping to his knees, the wood hard and cold through his jeans. He could see, against the side of the porch on the ground, a domed dimpled shell, dark green and craggly. Those were definitely four legs coming out of the two sides and it must have been a turtle, only there was a broken stump where the head was supposed to be.

“Are you alright, Neal?”

He looked up to see Mr. Gold hesitating at the top of the steps, house keys held loosely in his hand.

“Papa,” Bae called from the door. “Hurry up. I want to show M—Miss Belle my Starfighters.”

“Back to Miss Belle, is it?” she said. “You know, it’s alright if you call me Mama.”

Neal pressed his knees lower to the wood. He reached out his hand, trying to catch one of the stone legs, but the turtle was too far away. Or rather he was, where he was crouched. Neal wished he were taller.

“Really?” He heard Bae ask.

“Of course. I liked it when you called me that.”

He pushed his legs out so he was on his stomach and flat on the wood, then pulled himself forward so his chest was off the step, but not too far forward that he’d overbalance and fall into the bushes. Neal reached out again, and he was reminded of his swimming lessons, of his arms reaching out over a pool. He thought about what it would feel like to dive off his step and land head first in the dirt, to swim as far into the ground as he could. Was dirt heavy like water was?

Gold cleared his throat but Neal didn’t look up. He heard the sound of keys jingling, and then the turning of a lock. The door opened. Bae started talking again, and his voice was getting further away but Neal wasn’t listening anyway.

It had to be, right? Heavy, that is. The dirt. Neal knew the bottom of a pool felt like a quilt, like blanket after blanket laid on top of him, pushing him down. Only it was pulling him up, too; water was heavy and light and he could make it to the bottom but it never let him just sink. He’d sink in dirt, though. He’d go down and down and down and it would be quiet the way water wasn’t.

He learned in school that the inside of the earth was made of lava. He wondered how far down he’d have to go before he burned up.

He heard his name, but it sounded far away. He felt the boards creak, though, and he could especially feel the vibrations in his stomach as someone walked down the steps. The edge of the wood where it pressed into the bottom of his ribs hurt. Neal really wanted to be anywhere else in the world just then (he wished he were on the bottom of a swimming pool while the water held his ears closed and all he could hear was the whoosh of the water hitting the concrete sides).

The muffled sound of a voice floated to his ears, and Neal turned to look but his elbow knocked against the step above him. His hands were up over his ears, pushing pushing pushing. Neal frowned as he lowered them. He hadn’t realized he had done that. He scooted down on the step so he wasn’t hanging over anymore, and at least that made it a little easier to breathe.

“I see you’ve found Mrs. Toad.”

Gold. Gold was the voice. Speaking. Sitting on the first step, looking up at him.

Neal crinkled his nose; his eyes were dry and he couldn’t feel any wet lines on his face, and he couldn’t feel the skin itching where wet lines used to be, either. That was good, him not crying. Gold would get mad at him if he started crying.

The gold handle of a cane came into view. Gold, still sitting below, hooked the handle behind one of the front legs and pulled (had he called it a toad?) then when it was close enough, he picked it up.

“An unfortunate mishap with Bae decapitated her.” Gold turned the turtle so Neal could see the jagged edges of where the neck was supposed to be, as if he hadn’t noticed the very obvious missing head. “She had big bug eyes and a wide mouth, and we agreed that she looked more like a toad despite the shell and lack of proper frog-legs, so Mrs. Toad it was.”

He turned her upside down, showing him a plate of metal that had been screwed into the stone on one end. He held the turtle out, expecting Neal to take it.

Neal did not take it. He stayed where he was, spread out longways on the step. He pillowed his head on his folded arms

Unbothered, Gold pushed the metal plate aside, swinging it open by the screw to reveal a hollow compartment in Mrs. Toad’s belly. He held it out, angled so Neal wouldn’t have to move to see what was inside, which turned out to be a key.

“The house key,” Gold said. “For when we get locked out.” After closing the plate, he set the turtle down on its feet on the steps between them.

For several long moments, neither one said anything. Neal looked back at the bush, where the turtle had been dragged. There were three grooves where the dirt had been shifted.

“This,” Gold cut himself off. He cleared his throat. Tried again. “This distance is…closing, isn’t it? We’re not strangers anymore.” He wasn’t looking at Neal, but at his cane, tapping the handle while digging the cane into the ground.

“And that means…well. It’s not easy to share, especially if you’ve never had to do so before.”

Oh.

That’s what that feeling was.

_It’s alright if you call me—_

Neal slammed his eyes shut.

“I like Bae,” he said, his voice sounding like it did when he had a cold, like his mouth was lined with sandpaper. And he did. Bae was nice and fun and he was such a horrible, mean person for feeling like he did and he belonged buried in the ground.

“I imagine that doesn’t make it any easier.” Gold’s voice was soft, gentle. When Neal risked a peek through his eyelashes, he didn’t look angry or disappointed. Instead there was a small smile on his face. He looked—he looked like he _understood_ , like maybe he had a hard time sharing, too.

Neal wondered if Gold ever felt it, like he was drowning in dirt and while everyone else was being pulled up like flowers, he just kept sinking.

“Whatever you’re feeling,” Gold continued, still soft and kind, “it’s okay. Nothing you feel is wrong.”

Swallowing, Neal looked away. His gaze landed on Mrs. Toad, still on the step below him. It was a stupid name. He wished he could have seen what the face looked like.

Moving so his weight was on one elbow, Neal reached out a hand, trying to pick Mrs. Toad up by the shell. He only got it a few inches in the air before he dropped it with a thunk, the stone heavy enough to make a small gash in the wood. Neal felt a distressed sound escape from his chest.

Gold only chuckled. “That’s what led to her beheading in the first place. Heavier than it looks, isn’t it?”

Neal swallowed, his chest tight. Biting down on his lip hard, he sat up finally and pulled his knees close, his back against the step above him.

“Hey, no harm done,” Gold said with a smile. He picked Mrs. Toad up and held her out to him again, and this time Neal accepted her, and was ready for the weight of the stone in his hands. He traced the pattern of the shell. Turned her over. Pushed the metal plate open and closed, then open again.

“I don’t know what I feel,” he admitted to the turtle. It didn’t taste like a lie, even if it sort of was. He just didn’t want to put a name to it.

“That’s okay, too,” Gold said.

Neal shivered, and he realized that he and Gold had been out on the porch for a long time now.

Gold seemed to realize it as well because he stood, brushing off his pants. “How about we stick Mrs. Toad back in the garden, then go warm up inside.” He took the turtle back and unceremoniously dropped it in the dirt, using his cane to push her into a proper spot. Neal took the hand he held out and let himself be pulled onto his feet.

They could hear voices coming from the room to the right as they entered the house, and when Neal peered around the corner, he saw Belle on a couch holding a red lego spaceship in her hands as if one wrong move would cause it to shatter into a million little lego bricks. Bae was standing in front of her, holding a different one.

“—they both fight against the Empire,” Bae was saying. “So it’s weird to have them fight each other. I really want the Imperial Shuttle—I could have a real fight then, and it looks the coolest.”

“Even cooler than the Y-Wing?” Belle aimed her starship carefully for the middle of the room, then pulled back on a lever in between the two back wings. She frowned when instead of firing a missile to the carpet, her lap was bombed as lego pieces dropped from the undercarriage.

“No, you just dropped the nukes. This one shoots,” Bae said, leaning over and pointing out the trigger. “You’re just as bad as Papa.”

At the sound of Gold closing the front door, Bae looked over. “Hey, Neal,” he called, having spotted him in the doorway. “Have you—” he stopped, tilting his head. That made Belle look over and Neal focused on his feet. He could feel how she was looking at him with concern, how she was frowning. He knew Mr. Gold was behind him, and he could feel him looking too; all the eyes on him were making his skin itch. Why did he have to be like this?

A hand was on his shoulder, and Neal tensed, hunching forward. Gold let go and cleared his throat. Before he could say anything, Bae turned to Belle and handed her the lego ship he had been holding. “I’ll be right back,” he said, moving deeper into the room, then turning and leaving where it wrapped around into what was probably the dining room (Neal could see the very end of a large wooden table, and he couldn’t think of any other reason it would be there).

Belle, now holding two lego ships that she wasn’t sure what to do with, nodded at the sofa next to her. “Want to sit next to me?” she asked.

Only hesitating a little, Neal walked over and plopped down next to his mom. Feeling drained of all his energy, he slumped into the cushions.

Belle put the legos down on the coffee table. “How are you doing?” she asked in a low voice.

Just then Bae returned, and Neal was so relieved he didn’t have to answer the question. “This is for you,” he said, stopping in front of them on the couch. In his hands was a present. “I wanted to get you Harry Potter stuff, but Papa said this would be better. I helped him pick it out, though.” He held it out expectantly.

The wrapping paper was blue and green and had a swirling pattern, and there was a large, shiny gold bow. Neal liked presents; he especially liked the sound of the paper crinkling as it ripped open. His mom always put the bows on her head after a present was opened (Christmas was the best—every new bow, no matter the size or color, would be pressed onto her head until it looked like she was wearing a lumpy crown). His hands were already reaching out to take the present when he heard his mom sigh.

“I wish you’d told me,” she said. “I’d have brought something for Bae.”

“That’s okay! I don’t want anything,” Bae said quickly, smiling.

“That was an oversight,” Gold said, still lurking in the doorway. “You have my apologies.”

Belle nodded at Neal to accept the package. “Easier to ask forgiveness, hm?”

Gold shrugged in response, but by that point Neal was already tearing the wrapping paper with the blue and green pattern apart.

Inside he found a book, the cover hard and brown and empty, held together with large metal rings. When he opened it, he found blank white pages, smooth and thick, like greeting cards. It was a sketchbook, empty and new and all his. He closed it, turned it over; the back cover was just as empty as the front. He relished the weight of it in his hands.

“I wanted to get you a leather journal because those ones were the coolest,” Bae said, breaking the silence. “But Papa said it’d be harder for you to draw something good with the pages creased in the middle. We decided it’d be better if you could design the cover how you wanted, too. All the other covers were so stupid and boring.”

Neal nodded, listening closely while he clutched his sketchbook in his hands. The thought flittered through his mind that he was going to warp the binding and he let go abruptly, dropping the book in his lap.

“There’s also colored pencils and markers in your room, and Papa bought, like, a dozen new normal pencils for you too. None of them are mechanical though so I don’t know the point.”

Belle shot Mr. Gold a look. “Why do I get the feeling none of them are Crayola brand?”

Gold flashed her a smug smile. “What was it you said about asking permission?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you say, Neal?”

Neal clenched the journal as tight as he dared (he had the ridiculous urge of curling around it like a snake). He looked to the doorway where Gold hadn’t moved. “Thank you, Mr. Gold,” he said, hoping his voice carried that far.

Gold winced. “That sounds a bit stuffy, doesn’t it? My name’s Aaron. You can—you can call me that, if you like—or just Gold. Or. well, keep calling me Mister Gold, if you want to. Whatever you’re more comfortable with is fine.”

Neal nodded. Aaron. Aaron Gold. Right.

He wondered what colored pencils and markers even looked like when they weren’t Crayola.

“How about you give Neal and Belle a tour?” Gold said to Bae just before the silence started to hang again. “I’m sure they’d like to see the house.”

Bae’s smile grew brighter at the suggestion, and he happily complied. “This is the living room,” Bae said grandly, sweeping his arm out like a butler. “And you are both sitting on a couch.”

Belle giggled, and as Bae pointed out all the furniture and decorations in the room, Neal saw that the shiny gold bow was still stuck to the crumpled wrapping paper. He peeled it off carefully, making sure the tape would still stick. He handed it to his mom, who smiled in thanks.

Instead of affixing the bow to her head, she reached out and stuck it on Bae, just below the hairline on his left side. He cut off with a squawk and shook his head, but the bow remained in place. It was more in surprise, though; Bae touched the bow tentatively, but didn’t pull it off. He smiled instead, blue eyes wide and excited.

When he waved his arm to get them to follow so they could see the dining room, it was easy for Neal to stand up and trail after him.

He didn’t put his sketchbook down, though.

* * *

 

Gold had been watching Neal and Bae sit in the living room for the past hour, but if it weren’t for the numbers on the clock he would swear it had only been a handful of minutes. Bae was on the floor digging through a tub of lego bricks, instruction booklet open to his side (“No, Papa, it’s called an AT-ST Walker, not an Ats Walker. They fought the Ewoks on Endor, remember?”).

Neal, on the other hand, was curled into the far corner of the couch; part so he had something to lean against, but mostly to keep Bae from sneaking peeks of what he was drawing in his sketchbook. He hadn’t set it down since he unwrapped it, and Gold was very pleased by that. He hadn’t opened any of the colored pencils or markers, but Gold figured that was due to him being overwhelmed rather than uninterested.

“I still can’t believe you got him Copics,” Belle muttered under her breath as if she could hear his train of thought.

“You have to start somewhere,” he muttered back.

“You don’t start with Copics.”

“He will. And if he decides he doesn’t like those, he can always try something else.” Gold sniffed. “I almost got him chalk pastels, but I was told those were rather messy, especially for beginners.”

Belle snorted. “If he ever wants to try those they can stay here, then.”

Gold could live with that, least of all because of the unspoken implication that Neal would be spending more time at his house. He shot another look at the clock. “I think it’s about time to start on dinner,” he said, loud enough to get the boys’ attention. “Would either of you like to help me?”

“Already?” Belle asked. “It’s hardly after four.”

“We’re making pizza. It’s a process, you see.”

Bae looked up at the word pizza. “It’s fun to put the toppings on—we got a bunch of stuff yesterday. Also you should make your own because if you let Papa do it for you he’ll put gross stuff on it, like olives or pineapple.”

“I raised a son with no pallet,” Gold shot back with a flash of his gold tooth, “but I’m sure there’s enough variety on hand that everyone can make something they’ll be happy with.” It had seemed the best compromise, honestly, not really knowing how picky an eater Neal might be. “If that’s agreeable?” he asked before standing.

“Of course. We like pizza, don’t we Neal?”

“Uh-huh,” Neal said, not looking up.

“Neal, Bae, would you like to join me?”

“Making the crust is boring,” Bae said, returning to his legos. “It’s just flour sitting in a bowl for an hour. We’ll wait here.”

Neal’s eyes flickered over to him over the top of the sketchbook. For a moment Gold thought he’d want to, but then he looked away and muttered a “no thanks.”

Belle’s eyebrows rose. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. Even the dough is from scratch?”

He shrugged, his smile only slightly dimmed. “It’s fairly easy to make, really.”

“Well,” she said standing as well. “I will join you.”

“Excellent,” Gold said, leading her to the kitchen. A large bowl was already on the counter, as well as the flour and oil and yeast.

Belle watched him as he pulled everything towards them. “I haven’t thanked you yet,” she said shifting from foot to foot.

Shooting her a glance, Gold turned on the faucet, waiting for the water to heat up. “For what?”

“For whatever you said to Neal. Before you guys came in.”

He thought back to the porch, to Neal crouched low on the step, hands pressed over his ears and eyes squeezed shut. He still felt the overwhelming urge to scoop his boy up into his arms and promise that all the bad things couldn’t reach him here, but he knew that following through on that impulse would end poorly for everyone.

“Ah,” Gold said, swallowing. “That was no trouble.”

“I mean it, thank you,” she said. “I should have been paying more attention.”

“You were with Bae,” he said easily. “I was happy to do it.” He was no stranger to panic attacks, and it felt important that it was him and not Belle to pull Neal out of whatever hole he had stumbled into.

When the water was warm enough, he measured out a few cups then poured them directly into the bowl.

“Whatever you said seemed to have done the trick. And the new journal certainly didn’t hurt.”

Gold smirked, holding out the yeast for Belle to take. “Sprinkle that in, would you?”

“How much?”

“Enough to cover the top.”

She stood beside him at the counter, hand poised over the water.

He watched the brown grain settle in the water, hardly rippling. He wondered if he should tell her exactly what it was that caused Neal to panic in the first place. It was her right as his mother, no question, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to imply that Neal’s stress was directly caused by her and Bae, by them growing closer. It wasn’t, not really; he believed that the root of it was the guilt. It was Neal thinking he wasn’t allowed to be upset by these sudden changes, and feeling it made him bad by extension which led to shame at feeling anything at all.

Gold should have said that instead, made it explicitly clear that Neal wasn’t bad for feeling the things he did.

Maybe he should tell Belle after all. Neal might believe it if he heard it from his mother.

“What is it?” Belle asked him, pulling him from his bleak thoughts. She set the container of yeast on the counter, clicking the plastic lid closed.

“This is more than I could have ever hoped for,” he said quietly. “And I don’t dislike anything that has happened.”

“Okay.” She had turned so her hip was resting against the counter. She crossed her arms, waiting for him to continue.

“What am I doing wrong?” he asked in a rush.

Belle couldn’t help the startled laugh as she realized what he was talking about. “Are you worried Neal doesn’t like you?”

“Yes.”

The stricken look on his face killed her amusement and she sobered. His face was so open, his fear so honest and deep that Belle had no choice but to reach out and take his hand.

“This is only the second time he’s met you in person,” she said, cocking her head.

Gold scoffed. “Baden is already call—” he cut himself off, his teeth snapping together.

Belle bit her lip, looking unsure. “Does it bother you, him calling me Mama? Because I can—”

“No, no.” The water in the bowl had started foaming. He opened a drawer to his left and pulled out a whisk, pulling his hand away from Belle in the process. “Go ahead and measure out a fourth of a cup,” he said, sliding over the bottle of olive oil. After adding the oil, sugar and salt, he whisked the contents of the bowl together.

Like Neal, he wasn’t bothered by the development between Bae and Belle. He knew better than anyone that Bae needed a mother, and although there was no one on Earth who could love Bae like he did, Belle definitely came close. Hell, she was probably the only one capable. No, he knew this was the inevitable path, and he’d have an easier time keeping the sun from rising than keeping them from going down it.

Unlike Neal, it wasn’t guilt he felt. It was the failure in not being able to connect to his biological child like Belle could.

“It’s so easy to love Baden,” Belle said in a low voice.

“Neal is just as easy to love.”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Belle smiled. “It’s just hard for Neal, I think. Hard for him to love as freely as we do.”

Gold pushed the bowl away, so it was between them again. “You add in the flour, I’ll stir,” he said, picking up a wooden spoon.

“Look,” Belle said, scooping the flour from it’s container carefully. “I don’t pretend to always understand what goes on in his head, and he’s certainly not as...outgoing as Bae, but I can promise you if you keep treating Neal like you are, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s a person. Neal doesn’t really have friends,” she confessed. “He tries to hide it from me, but I know.”

“He has Bae, now.” Gold said after a pause. “He likes Bae. He told me himself.”

“They get along wonderfully, don’t they.” Belle turned to smile at him, and he realized just how close she was, how warm she was against his side.

Gold focused on the bowl, on the thickening dough and the flour he kept folding into it and pretended that he couldn’t smell the faint scent of roses every time Belle shifted (was it her perfume, or her shampoo?).

Finally, after adding just the barest dash of oil, he covered the bowl and pushed it back on the counter for the dough to set. There was little excuse to stand close together, and as such Gold took a small step away, trying to clear his head.

“It’s going to rise now, right? Increase in size and all that?” Belle asked with a nod to the bowl. She shrugged and a corner of her mouth rose in a small smile like she knew the answer but just wanted to have something to say.

“Ah, yes. Should about double in size in an hour or so.”

“And then we can get get the boys in here to make some pizza under threat of olives.”

Gold couldn’t help but chuckle at that, as ridiculous as it was. “Indeed.”

He watched as she nodded absently, her eyes roving around the kitchen to the cupboards, the marble countertops and the island. In turn he studied her; the sharp line of her jaw, the swell of her cheekbones, her eyes that were so like his son’s and so impossibly blue. For a moment, he wished that there was a streak of flour on her face so he would have an excuse to reach out and run the backs of his fingers against her skin. To brush the flour away, of course. Not that he’d dare, even there were. Flour. On her cheek.

Gold was wondering if he hadn’t stepped far enough away.

The sound of her retreating voice snapped him back to the present: “While we wait—”

“What?” he called as she dashed back into the living room. Gold didn’t have long to wait before Belle came back with her purse.

“I can’t believe I almost forgot about these.” She pulled out a photo album, about the size of a paperback and twice as thick, brimming with glossy photos. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a scrapbooker or a photographer, but I thought you might appreciate these.”

Gold stared at the album. “Is that…”

“All the best pictures of the first nine years of Neal’s life? Why, yes it is.”

With shaking, eager hands, Gold took the book and flipped to the first page. There was Belle in a hospital bed, beaming as she held a swaddled bundle of a sleeping baby. He wondered if it was Neal or Bae that she was holding—he’d have to find his own baby pictures and see if there was any comparison to be made. He kicked himself for not thinking of having any photos on hand, himself. No doubt Belle would love a chance to see how Bae grew up.

Turning to the next picture, he saw Belle in a brightly lit kitchen, Neal on her hip laughing and a woman, holding out a bottle for Belle to take. Right away he could tell the resemblance.

“Your mother?” he asked.

Belle hummed. “She passed away when Neal was about four. She loved him so much.” She smiled sadly, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured. “She seemed like a lovely woman.”

“You’re just saying that because I said she liked Neal.”

“And why would I need any other details?”

Belle laughed, throwing her head back. They moved to the island, taking seats on the barstools, and passed the time as they waited for the dough to rise. Gold studied each and every photo, looking at all the details and asking every question he could think of with Belle only too happy to answer.

They were only halfway through when Bae and Neal interrupted. “What’s taking you guys so long?”

Gold looked up, startled. A quick look at the clock showed that it was past time for the dough to be rolled out and slathered in tomato sauce.

“Forgive me, lads. We lost track of time. You must be hungry.”

“A little, yeah.” Neal shrugged.

Gold smiled. “Alright. Bae, how about you grab the sauce, and Neal, the cheese is in the fridge, along with pepperoni and ham.”

“That’s yours now, by the way,” Belle said gesturing to the album as she stood to preheat the oven. “You can keep it, so you don’t have to worry about memorizing every single picture.”

Gold ran the plastic cover of the current picture between his fingers. It was of Halloween when Neal was six, and he was dressed in a store-bought Spiderman spandex costume, mask in one hand, plastic trick-or-treat bucket in the other. Gold sighed, reluctant to put it down even with the new movement in the kitchen. “All the same.”

“Keep what?” Bae asked, scooting close to his father, two jars of tomato sauce held tightly against his chest with one arm.

“Belle was nice enough to give me some pictures of Neal,” Gold said, showing him the current one.

“Spiderman. Nice,” he said with a nod of approval. “Papa made me jedi robes for last year. They were so cool.”

“Made?” Belle asked, sprinkling flour on the counter. “By hand?”

“Yeah, Papa makes all my costumes. I help him print patterns from the internet.”

“You cook, you sew, you’re an accomplished lawyer and business owner...any other hidden talents you’d like to share?” Belle asked.

“That’s the entire list, I assure you,” he said.

“You can sew?” Neal asked. “But you’re a boy.”

Gold raised an eyebrow. “I’m a man, and I assure you, sewing is a man’s job.”

Narrowing his eyes, Neal shot a look to Belle, who only shrugged. “I can’t sew, so he must be right.”

That wasn’t the answer he expected, if his frown was anything to go by. He set the cheese and meat on the counter, and Bae started digging through the lower cupboards for bowls to put them in.

Finally shutting the album and tucking it safely to the center of the island, Gold stood to help parse out the dough. “Halloween is just around the corner, you know. I’d be more than happy to make you a costume this year as well.”

Neal furrowed his brow, giving Gold a sideways glance. “How’d you learn to sew?”

Gold smiled as he unwrapped the dough and plopped it onto the floured countertop. “My aunts were seamstresses. They taught me all about textiles.”

“Hm.” That seemed to be all the explanation he needed.

Gold divided the dough, moving aside so Neal and Bae could get closer to the counter to knead and pull it out. From there it was easy to direct them on how much sauce to use (Neal preferred his light, Bae needed to be reminded how much was too much) and point them to the toppings. Belle had cut up some peppers and mushrooms, which the boys snubbed despite her cajoling.

He watched them work, letting his own pizza languish on the counter. For a moment, Gold indulged in the fantasy that this was just a regular Saturday night, that after dinner was finished and cleaned up, they’d watch a movie or play a board game in the lounge until no one could keep their eyes open. He and Belle would tuck the boys into bed together, then retire to their room. And since it was only a fantasy, he imagined sleeping surrounded with the scent of roses, her body warm as it held his. And she’d be there when he woke up, everyday, ready to help him make breakfast for their children.

In the light of the kitchen, the smell of marinara heavy, cheese and sauce spilled across the counter and Bae laughing delightedly at something Neal muttered, it was easy to ignore that by this time tomorrow, Neal and Belle would be back in Boston, away from him.

 


End file.
